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THE 


WORKS   OF   FATHER   PROUT. 


THE    WORKS 


OF 


FATHER    PROUT 


(THE    REV.    FRANCIS    MAHONY) 


EDITED  WITH  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES  BY 

CHARLES     KENT 


BARRISTER- AT-LAW 


AUTHOR  OF  "ALETHEIA,"  "CORONA  CATHOLICA,"  ETC. 


LONDON 

GEORGE   ROUTLEDGE  &    SONS,   Limited 

Broadway,  Ludgate  Hill 

MANCHESTER    AND     NEW    YORK 


"  A  rare  combination  of  the  Teian  lyre  and  the  Irish  bagpipe ; 
of  the  Ionian  dialect  blending  harmoniously  with  the  Cork 
brogue  ;  an  Irish  potato  seasoned  with  Attic  salt. 

Oliver  Yorke. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

BlOGR.\PHICAL    IXTRODfCTION wii 

THE  RELIQUES  OF  FATHER  PROUT. 

Oliver  Yorke's  Preamble  xxxv 

Father  Prout's  Apology  for  Lent i 

His  Plea  for  Pilgrijlages i3 

His  Carousal ...  39 

Dean  Swift's  Madness  :  A  Tale  of  a  Churn 64 

The  Rogueries  of  Tom  !Moore 83 

LlTER.\TURE  and   THE  JeSUITS I04 

The  Songs  of  France — 

Wine  and  War ,        .  129 

Women  and  Wooden  Shoes 149 

Philosophy 170 

Frogs  and  Free  Tr.\de ,        .        .        .  190 

The  Songs  of  Italy — 

Chapter  the  First 211 

Chapter  the  Second 230 

Barry  in  the  Vatican 240 

The  Days  of  Erasmus 263 

Victor  Hugo's  Lyrical  Poetry .  2S3 

A  Series  of  Modern  Poets — 

ViDA's    "  SlLK\VORM  " 308 

Sarbiewski,  Sannazar,  and  Fracastor 325 

Beza,  Vaniere,  and  Buchanan 342 

Father  Prout's  Dirge 361 

Mahony  on  Prout 363 

The  Songs  of  Horace — 

First  Decade 377 

Second  Decade 396 

Third  Decade 4^3 

Fourth  Decade 429 

Fifth  Decade ,        .        .        .        .  44S 

MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

The  Epiphany  :  A  Fragment 460 

The  Bottle  of  St.  Januarius 4-3 

The  Sabine  Farmer's  Serenade 4^9 


lVi5e7317 


VI 


Contents. 


The  Hot  Wells  05  Clifton 

The  Original  of  "Not  a  Drum  was  hea 

The  Ides  of  March 

The  Signs  of  the  Zodiac 

Blrns  and  Beranger 

Lover  and  Ovid 

A  Baptismal  Chant 

The  Piper's  Progress 

The  Double  Barrel 

Poetical  Epistle  to  Boz 

The  Mistletoe 

The  Redbreast  of  Aquitania 

Inaugural  Ode  to  the  "Author  of  Vanity  Fair 


473 
475 
477 
478 

480 
4S2 

485 
487 

489 
490 
492 

495 

500 


^iogntpbical  Introbuction 


BEING 


THE    LIFE    OF    TEE    REV.    FRANCIS    MAHONY, 
"  FATHER    PROUT." 


An  assumed  name  has  often  acquired  a  celebrity  in  literature,  as  contrasted 
with  which  that  of  the  author  himself,  down  to  the  very  last,  dwindles  to  com- 
parative insignificance.  Thomas  Ingoldsby,  for  example,  is  far  more  widely 
known  to  the  generality  of  readers  than  Richard  Harris  Barham  ;  while 
many  upon  whose  ears  the  name  of  Bryan  Waller  Procter  might  sound 
but  strangely  would,  nevertheless,  be  perfectly  familiar  with  his  pseudonym 
as  a  l)Tist,  Barry  Cornwall.  .Similarly,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted,  that 
while,  as  a  rule,  the  Parisians  of  the  days  of  the  Citizen  King  enjoyed, 
with  the  greatest  gusto,  the  fame  of  Timon,  the  majority  of  them  either 
knew  nothing  whatever,  or  next  to  nothing,  of  the  individuality  of  Louis 
de  Cormenin.  With  anonymous  writers  it  happens,  perhaps,  the  most 
frequently,  that  the  mask  having  been  first  allowed  to  slip  awr}',  is 
eventually  thrown  away  altogether.  Boz,  after  this  fashion,  was  soon 
tossed  aside  like  a  superfluous  domino,  when  Dickens,  still  a  very  young 
man,  quietly  stepped  to  the  front,  according  to  Thackeray's  expression,  and 
calmly  took  his  place  in  perpetuity  among  the  first  of  English  humorists. 
Thackeray  himself,  as  it  fell  out,  required  a  little  longer  time  before  he  was 
enabled,  in  his  own  person,  to  supersede  his  supposititious  alter  ego, 
Michael  Angelo  Titmarsh.  Only  very  seldom,  a  iioni  de  phwie  gets 
to  be  so  far  identified  with  an  author,  that  it  becomes,  so  to  speak, 
a  convertible  term  with  his  patronymic.  In  this  way,  the  merest  casual 
mention,  at  any  time,  of  Elia,  is  about  equivalent  to  the  express  naming 
of  Charles  Lamb.  Again,  it  but  exceptionally  occurs  that  a  writer  of 
note  indulges  in  the  luxury  of  building  up  for  hmiself  two  or  three  distinct 
pseudonymous  reputations.  Swift's  reduplicated  triumph  in  that  way  is 
about  the  one  solitary  instance  that  can  be  adduced — an  instance  notably 
comm.emorated  by  Pope's  famous  apostrophe  in  the  "Dunciad" — 

O  thou  !  whatever  title  please  thine  ear. 
Dean,  Drapier,  Bickerstaff,  or  Gulliver  ! 

Otherwise,  it  has  been  the  general  rule,  in  this  particular,  among  authors — 
and  for  that  matter,  indeed,   it  may  be  said,  among  artists  as  well — to 


viii  Biographical  Introduction. 


select  some  imaginaiy  title,  and  hold  to  it  consistently.  In  the  histoiy  of 
Italian  art  it  is  in  this  manner  noteworthy  that  more  than  one  of  the  great 
painters  acquired  fame  under  the  merest  nickname  or  sohricpiet—^l^.'io  di 
San  Giovanni  being  better  known  to  the  world  at  large  as  Slovenly  Tom, 
otherwise  Masaccio,  and  Jacopo  Robusti,  by  reason  of  his  father's  craft,  as 
the  Little  Dyer,  otherwise  Tintoretto.  In  our  own  time,  agam,  there  have 
been  two  skilled  draughtsmen  who  have  enjoyed  a  wide  popularity,  the  one 
in  France  as  a  caricaturist,  the  other  in  England  as  a  book-illustrator,  each 
of  whom  in  turn  has  had  his  real  name  virtually  obliterated— or,  at  any  rate, 
in  a  great  measure  eclipsed— by  an  eccentric  pseudonym.  One  of  these 
has  long  been  universally  known  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel  under 
his  fantastic  signature  of  Cham  in  the  Charivari,  hardly  any  but  his  per- 
sonal intimates  being  acquainted  with  his  actual  designation,  Amedee  de  Noe. 
While,  with  regard  to  his  contemporaiy  and  compeer  amongst  ourselves, 
though  for  upwards  of  forty  years  he  has  been  familiarly  before  the  public 
under  his  grotesque  nom  de  crayon  as  Phiz,  comparatively  few  have, 
even  as  yet,  accustomed  themselves  to  identify  him  under  his  homely  sur- 
name, Browne.  Reverting,  however,  from  the  artistic  to  the  pui^ly 
literary  experts  who  have,  at  different  times,  indulged  in  this  innocent  kind 
of  masquerading,  it  may  be  argued,  with  some  show  of  reason, _  that  the 
fashion,  afterwards  so  much  in  vogue  in  this  countr}',  was  first  set  in  earnest 
when  Sir  Richard  Steele  began  to  discourse  in  the  Spectator  as  ^Nlr.  Short- 
face,  and  his  associate  Addison,  through  the  same  medium,  from  behind  the 
classic  mask  of  C.L.I.O.  Improving,  from  the  veiy  outset,  upon  the  design 
thus  happily  hit  upon  between  them,  those  congenial  intimates,  besides, 
there  and  then,  by  simply  harmonizing  their  fancies,  called  an  entirely  new 
personality  into  existence  :  one  ever  since  familiarly  known  in  the  world  of 
letters,  and  instantly  recognizable  by  all  to  this  day  as  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley. 

\Vhat  Steele's  and  Addison's  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  was  to  \}ciz  Spectator^ 
that,  a  little  more  than  a  hundred  years  afterwards,  was  Professor  Wilson's 
Christopher  North  to  Blackwood,  and  that,  a  very  little  later  yet,  was  the 
Rev.  Francis  Mahony's  Father  Prout  to  Fraser.  Each  in  turn  was  a 
creation,  each  was  a  central  and  dominant  figure  in  a  group  of  originals. 
Each  was  not  only  witty  and  humorous  in  himself,  but  the  cause  of  abounding 
wit  or  humour,  as  the  case  might  be,  in  those  with  whom  he  was  associated. 
If  around  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  there  were  clustered,  not  infrequently, 
in  hap]-»y  commune,  such  sympathetic  characters  as  Captain  Sentry,  and 
Sir  Andrew  Freeport,  and  Will  Honeycomb,  with  Christopher  North  there 
were  hilariously  allied,  in  the  carousals  of  the  Blue  Parlour,  Tickler,  and 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  and  the  English  Opium  Eater  ;  while,  at  Father 
Prout's  bidding,  there  were  brought  together — at  least  upon  one  memorable 
occasion— Jack  Bcllew,  Dan  Corbet,  and  Dick  Dowden,  to  chop  logic 
and  cap  verses,  to  crack  jokes  and  bottles  far  on  into  the  small  hours, 
at  the  hospitable  l)oard  of  the  good  old  parish  priest  of  Watergrasshill. 
That  Christopher  North  needed  no  crutch — being,  in  fact,  that  stalwart 
athlete,  both  physically  and  intellectually,  John  Wilson — evcr)'body  knew 
who  had  the  smallest  acquaintance  with  that  wonderful  repertory  of 
sarcasm,  frolic,  wit  and  wisdom,  the  "Nodes  Ambrosian.c. "  With  the 
identity  merged  in  the  jnuely  imaginary  character  of  Father  Prout,  how- 
ever, it  has  been  from  first  to  last  quite  otherwise.     The  author,  in  this 


Biographical  Introduction.  ix 

instance,  has  not  merely,  in  a  great  measure,  disappeared  from  view  behind 
the  veil,  as  it  were,  of  his  own  productions,  but  what  few  glimpses  have 
been  caught  of  him  have  been  obtained  through  a  medium  so  misted  over 
by  prejudice,  that  nothing  has  hitherto  been  secured  in  his  regard  but  a  few 
distorted  outlines  of  his  character.  It  seems  only  just  and  fair,  therefore, 
eveiything  considered,  that  some  effort  should  at  length  be  made  to  dissi- 
pate, so  far  as  may  be  in  any  way  possible,  the  haze  until  now  enveloping  the 
reputation  of  the  scholarly  Bohemian  who  was  the  author  of  these  Reliques. 

Francis  Sylvester  Mahony,  better  kno\^-n  among  his  intimates  as 
Frank -Mahony,  but  best  known  of  all  to  the  outer  world  as  "  Father  Prout," 
was  born  in  1804,  at  Cork,  in  Ireland.  Although  his  parentage  on  both  sides 
showed  him  to  be  distinctly  a  member  of  the  middle  classes,  his  father  was 
reputed  to  have  descended  from  a  younger  branch  of  one  of  the  most  ancient 
families  in  the  county  Kerry,  the  Zvlahonys,  or,  more  strictly,  the  O'^Iahonys, 
of  Dromore  Castle.  For  a  brief  interval,  indeed,  towards  the  close  of  his 
life  in  Paris,  the  subject  of  this  memoir  not  only  had  the  aristocratic  O  pre- 
fixed to  his  surname  upon  his  visiting  card,  but  the  family  crest  besides, 
engraved  above  it.  These  little  coquetries  with  the  airs  of  high  life,  how- 
ever, he  at  the  very  last,  as  in  truth  better  became  him,  abandoned. 
Nevertheless,  during  the  time  when  he  was  still  indulging  in  such  hannless 
luxuries  as  the  O  and  the  heraldic  device  just  mentioned,  he  showed  himself 
ready  enough  upon  occasion  stoutly  to  vindicate  his  right  to  the  possession 
of  both.  Playfully  asked  by  a  lady  friend,  whose  good  opinion  he  greatly 
regarded,  why  he  had  not  long  before  claimed  his  own  by  assuming  the 
prefixed  vowel,  he  not  merely  answered  at  once  by  word  of  mouth,  but 
deliberately  wrote  to  her  on  the  morrow,  that  he  valued  her  esteem  altogether 
too  highly  to  render  himself  ridiculous  by  assuming  what  he  had  no  right 
to  possess.  At  the  same  time,  he  referred  her  to  an  authority  in  these 
matters,  from  which  she  might  recognize,  at  a  glance,  what  claim  he  really 
had  to  employ  an  escutcheon  that  had  been  borne  by  his  race  for  at  least 
two  centuries  and  a  half  This  authority,  he  explained,  was  readily  acces- 
sible among  the  records  relating  to  the  siege  of  Limerick  preserved  in  the 
Bermingham  Tower  of  Dublin  Castle,  from  which  it  might  be  seen  that 
among  those  who  marched  out  of  the  beleaguered  city,  and  who,  on  arriving 
at  Cork,  refused  to  cross  over  to  France,  was  one  who  had  stood  to  his  guns 
like  a  trump,  having  served  throughout  the  defence  in  the  artiller}', — to  wit, 
his  ("Frank  O'^NIahony's")  great-great-grandfather. 

However  chivalrous  may  have  been  the  surroundings  of  his  ancestors, 
there  can  at  least  be  no  doubt  of  this,  that  his  immediate  progenitors  %yere 
persons  of  the  homehest  status.  For  a  dozen  years  after  his  entrance  into 
the  world,  Francis  Sylvester  Mahony  (without  the  O)  flourished  at  Cork, 
growing  up  there  into  a  shrewd,  bright-eyed,  saucy-faced  gossoon,  while 
picking  up  with  about  equal  readiness  the  brogue  that  never^  afterwards 
altogether  forsook  him,  and  the  mdiments  of  an  education  which,  a  little 
later  on,  was  to  ripen,  on  the  continent,  into  the  soundest  scholarship.  In 
point  of  fact,  he  was  just  twelve  years  of  age  when  he  first  quitted  his 
native  place  for  those  foreign  shores  which  for  half  a  century  afterwards 
had,  for  him,  a  supreme  fascination.  His  student  days  began  thus  betimes 
in  the  Jesuit  College  of  St.  Acheul,  at  Amiens.  Thence,  a  little  while  fur- 
ther on,  he  was  transferred  by  the  Fathers  of  the  Society  of  Jesus  to  their 

B   * 


Biographical  In trodiiciion. 


Parisian  seminary  in  the  Rue  de  Sevres.  Destined  from  an  early  period 
for  the  priesthood,  Frank  Mahony— or,  as  he  was  then  called  by  preference, 
Sylvester — passed  the  customary  two  years  of  his  novitiate  under  the  care 
of  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  alternately  at  their  establishment  in  the  Rue  de 
Sevres,  and  in  their  suburban  retreat,  or  viaison  de  campagne,  at  ^Nlontrouge. 

An  apter  scholar  than  Mahony  those  great  masters  of  erudition  never  had 
entrusted  to  their  charge  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  advantages  accming 
to  himself,  intellectually,  from  their  system,  it  would  be  difficult  in  any  way 
to  exaggerate.  During  the  time  when  he  was  enrolled  under  their  instruc- 
tion, as  he  used  himself  afterwards  exultantly  to  declare,  he  breathed  a  veiy 
atmosphere  of  latinity, — drank  it  in,  so  to  speak,  through  all  his  senses, — 
got  saturated  with  it  to  the  very  tips  of  his  nails.  Skilled  and  accomplished 
though  he  eventually  became  in  Greek  scholarship,  his  knowledge  of  Greek 
was  never  at  any  time  comparable  to  his  rare  and  intimate  knowledge  of 
Latin.  Under  his  foreign  Jesuit  masters  he  learned,  while  yet  a  stripling, 
to  write,  not  only  with  facility  but  with  elegance,  in  Latin,  according  to  the 
whim  of  the  moment,  elegiacs,  alcaics,  sapphics,  and  hexameters.  He  not 
only  spoke  the  language  glibly  even  in  his  college  days,  but  then  and 
thenceforward  his  latinity,  both  oral  and  written,  was  exceptionally  remark- 
able as  at  once  pure  and  idiomatic.  During  his  student  life  abroad,  more- 
over, he  contrived  so  completely  to  conquer  the  difficulties  of  French  and 
Italian,  that  from  that  date  forward  he  could  converse  in  either  with  the 
rapidity  of  a  native,  as  though  each  in  turn  had  been  his  mother  tongue. 
His  successes  throughout,  it  should  be  said  at  once,  were  exclusively  those 
achieved  in  Uteris  huviajiioribiis.  At  Acheul,  at  Paris,  and  at  ]\Iontrouge  it 
was  exactly  the  opposite  with  him,  in  his  intellectual  predilections  and 
antipathies,  to  what  it  had  been  at  Brienne  with  Napoleon,  when  the  latter 
was  familiarly  referred  to  among  his  comrades  as  the  Young  Mutineer — 
"  avec  le  cerveau  de  feu  pour  I'Algebre,  et  de  glace  pour  le  Latin. "  Mahony, 
on  the  contrary,  never  once  from  the  outset  dreamt  of  winning  honours  in 
disciplinis  mathejuaticis.  His  preference  was  given  from  the  first,  and  with 
his  whole  heart,  to  the  classic  languages  and  to  literature. 

Having  completed  his  novitiate  in  the  Rue  de  Sevres,  Sylvester  was  in 
cue  course  despatched  to  Rome  for  the  pursuance  of  his  higher  studies  there 
in  philosophy  and  theology,  at  the  Jesuit  College.  His  instructors  had  long 
before  then  come  to  recognize  in  him  far  more  of  the  student  than  of  the 
devotee.  In  temperament  he  was  knoMm  to  be  habitually  disputatious, 
occasionally  choleric,  and,  under  anything  like  direct  opposition,  whether 
in  trivial  or  important  matters,  persistently  self-opinionated.  If  friends 
were  won  to  him  with  ease  from  among  his  companions,  they  were  not  in- 
frequently repelled  by  the  caustic  irony  of  his  remarks,  which  too  often 
illustrated  only  too  poignantly  Sydney  Smith's  famous  metaphor  about  the 
sword-stick,  out  of  which  seemingly  innocent  and  harmless  object  there 
suddenly  leaps  forth  something  keen,  glittering,  and  incisive. 

Having  receiN-^d  in  due  sequence  the  tonsure  and  the  four  minor  orders, 
Mahony  had  by  this  time,  at  reasonable  inters-als,  been  advanced  to  the 
sub-diaconate,  and  eventually  to  the  diaconate.  Precisely  at  the  period  of 
life,  however,  when  he  was  eligible  for  ordination  to  the  priesthood,  his 
health  failed  him  so  completely  that  it  was  considered  in  every  way  advis- 
able that  he  should  return  for  a  while  to  Ireland.  On  this  journey  home- 
ward he  had  got  as  far  as  Genoa  when,  calling  in  there  upon  the  Pro- 


Biographical  Litrodiiction.  xi 

\incial,  it  was  communicated  to  him  as  gently,  but  as  distinctly,  as  possible, 
that  he  was  considered  by  his  superiors  to  have  no  vocation  whatever  for 
the  priesthood,  and  that  in  any  case  it  had  been  decided  by  them  that  he 
was  in  no  way  qualified  to  enter  the  Society.  Although,  during  the  course 
of  his  studies  in  the  Eternal  City  under  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  intimations  of  a 
like  kind  had  been  made  to  him  whenever  he  had  taken  occasion  to  express 
his  desire  to  become  a  novice,  the  weighty  remonstrance  addressed  to  him 
at  Genoa  by  the  Pro\-incial  took  him,  in  a  great  measure,  by  surprise, 
filling  his  mind  for  a  while  with  doubt  and  bewilderment,  but  leaving  him  in 
the  end  wholly  unconvinced.  Pursuing  his  journey  westwards,  nevertheless, 
it  may  here  be  said  at  once,  by  anticipation,  that  on  reaching  his  native 
land  he  obtained  permission  to  renew  his  efforts,  to  the  end,  that  is,  of  test- 
ing his  vocation,  with  a  result  exactly  the  same  as  that  already  arrived  at. 

Before  relating,  however,  what  occurred — on  the  occasion  of  that 
second  and,  as  it  might  be  considered,  crucial  test  as  to  the  validity 
of  his  vocation — at  the  great  Jesuit  College  of  Clongowes  (which  is  to 
Ireland  what  Stonyhurst  is  to  England),  it  is,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  remark- 
able to  note,  from  a  book  actually  published  in  Paris  when  Mahony  was 
in  his  twenty-second  year,  that  is,  in  1826,  how  strongly  his  (in  the  cruel 
English  sense  of  the  word)  Jesuitical  character  had  impressed  itself  upon 
one  of  his  contemporaries.  This  contemporar}-,  it  should  be  explained  at 
once,  was  the  Abbe  Martial  Marest  de  la  Roche-Amand,  who,  in  his  work 
"  Les  Jesuites  Modemes,"  sketched  in  lurid  colours  a  most  extravagant 
caricature  of  the  genius  and  temperament  of — as  he  dubbed  him — 0"Mahoni ! 
"Bom  in  Ireland,"  quoth  this  atrabilious  and  ultra-caustic  penciller  by 
the  way,  "  I  know  not  if  O'Mahoni  is  descended  from  the  Count  of  that 
name,  but  to  the  spirit,  to  the  prejudices,  to  the  system  of  the  Count,  he 
adds  the  fanaticism,  the  dissimulation,  the  intrigue,  and  the  chicane  of  a 
thorough  Jesuit !  God  help  us  in  the  contingency  of  his  Company  ever 
triumphing  in  France  I  Were  he  only  to  become  confessor  to  our  good 
King,  he  would,  for  a  dead  certainty,  give  us  magnificent  auto-da-fes  !  Irish 
and  Scotch  Catholics  have  about  them  a  smack  of  the  Spanish  Catholics  ; 
they  love  to  sniff  the  reek  wafted  from  the  funeral  pyres  of  the  doomed 
wretches  who  have  declined  to  hear  mass.  The  Society  designs  to  place 
O'Mahoni,  later  on,  at  the  head  either  of  colleges  or  of  congregations. 
Having  taught  him  to  stifle  all  natural  sentiment  under  the  morality  of  a 
devout  life,  they  hope  that,  docile  to  the  teachings  of  his  instructors,  the 
young  O'Mahoni  will  become  still  more  insensible  and  still  more  cruel  than 
the  most  pitiless  inquisitors  of  Valence  and  of  Saragossa  I  "  For  forty 
years  together  Mahony  preserved  a  copy  of  the  book  containing  this 
amazingly  grotesque  distortion  of  his  own  lineaments  in  his  youth,  and 
would  often  point  out  with  a  chuckle  of  delight  the  passage  just  translated. 
But  at  length,  in  1S65,  when,  as  it  may  be  presumed,  he  had  got  it  pretty 
well  by  heart,  he  handed  the  precious  volume  over  as  a  gage  d  amitU  to 
James  Hannay,  enhancing  its  interest  to  his  friend  by  scrawling  on  the 
fly-leaf  that  it  was  a  gift  to  him  from  Frank  :Mahony  (it  should  have  been 
O'Mahoni)  de  Saragosse  ! 

Leaving  behind  him  on  the  Continent,  in  one  mind  at  least,  such  par- 
ticularly strong-flavoured  impressions  as  to  his  being  inspired  by  a  rehgious 
zeal  amounting  to  nothing  less  than  ferocity — impressions,  it  can  alone  be 
presumed,  derived  from  no  other  source  than  the  sketcher's  own  mner  con- 


xii  Biographical  Introduction. 

sciousness,  Francis  Mahony,  still  a  young  cleric  aspiiing  to  the  priesthood 
arrived  at  Clongowes  Wood  College,  to  put  yet  again  to  the  test  what  he, 
at  any  rate,  for  one,  still  believed  in  as  his  religious  vocation. 

The  position  occupied  by  him  at  Clongowes  immediately  upon  his 
arrival  was  that  of  one  of  the  masters  of  the  establishment.  As  Prefect 
of  Studies  and  of  the  Higher  Playground  he  had  devolved  upon  him  the 
duty,  in  the  first  place,  of  preserving  silence  and  general  decorum  among 
the  more  advanced  students,  both  in  the  school-hall  and  in  the  college 
chapel ;  and  in  the  next  place,  during  the  hours  of  recreation,  of  seeing  to 
the  good  conduct  of  those  who  took  part  in  whatever  game  happened  at 
the  moment  to  be  uppermost,  such  as  cricket,  football,  rounders,  or  hare- 
and-hounds. 

Reaching  Clongowes  at  the  end  of  August,  1S30,  Tvlahony  found  there, 
among  the  pupils  entrusted  to  his  charge,  one  who,  like  himself,  was  but 
a  very  few  years  afterwards  to  become  a  contributor  to  Bciitle)''s  Miscellany^ 
this  being  the  future  author  of  the  Tipperary  Papers  in  that  periodical, 
otherwise  John  Sheehan,  better  known  to  the  generality  of  readers  by  his 
comical  title  of  the  Irish  Whisky  Drinker.  Another  pupil,  -who  was 
already  noted  among  the  collegians  as  the  most  skilled  Greek  scholar 
of  them  all,  writing  already  as  he  did  brilliant  Anacreontics,  took  part 
with  Mahony  also,  but  a  brief  while  later  on,  in  the  literary  jousts  of 
Regina.  This  was  Frank  Stook  Murphy,  afterwards  known  far  and 
wide  in  the  courts  of  law  as  Serjeant  Murphy,  and  who,  like  the  young 
Prefect  of  Studies  and  of  the  Higher  Playground,  was,  at  so  early  a  date, 
to  be  counted  among  the  picked  band  of  the  Fraserians. 

A  couple  of  months  had  hardly  elapsed  after  Mahony's  induction  into 
the  post  of  Prefect  at  Clongowes  when  he  was  promoted  by  Father  Kenny, 
the  then  Rector  of  the  College,  to  the  yet  more  responsible  ofhce  of  INIaster 
of  Rhetoric.  Rapid  though  his  advance  was,  however,  his  career  there,  in 
any  capacity,  was  destined  to  be  of  very  brief  duration.  It  closed  not 
only  abruptly  but  by  a  sort  of  catastrophe. 

A  couple  of  months  had  barely  run  out  after  Mahony's  arrival  at  Clongowes 
when,  early  in  November,  a  holiday  for  the  whole  College  was  unexpectedly 
announced.  Among  the  plans  which  were  thereupon  suddenly  impro- 
vised for  the  day's  enjoyment,  it  was  arranged  that,  under  the  special  charge 
of  their  young  master,  a  score  of  Rhetoricians  were  to  start  in  coursing 
line  across  country  in  pursuit  of  a  hare  about  an  hour  or  so  after  breakfast. 
This  select  band,  it  was  further  agreed,  was  to  head  well  off  through  the 
Duke  of  Leinster's  country  in  the  direction  of  Carton,  while  the  other 
divisions  of  the  Higher  School  were  to  scurry  away  by  entirely  dif- 
ferent routes  with  their  greyhounds.  Mahony's  party,  each  member  of 
which  was  that  genuine  broth  of  a  boy,  a  lightfooted  Patlander,  were, 
according  to  the  day's  programme,  to  sit  down  to  a  two  o'clock  dinner  in 
the  Hotel  at  Maynooth,  and  then,  after  a  brief  interval  of  rest,  were  to 
course  home  again  before  nightfall.  Nearly  midway,  on  their  return,  there 
was  to  be  one  slight  additional  interruption  at  Celbridge,  where  tea  was 
to  be  partaken  of  at  the  house  of  young  John  Sheehan's  father,  three 
miles  from  Maynooth,  and  five  from  Clongowes. 

The  Irish  Whisky  Drinker  himself  is  not  inappropriately  the  one  who 
has  put  upon  record  the  result  of  the  day's  proceedings.  According  to 
his  veracious  narrative  of  what  occurred,  all  went  prosperously  enough 


Biographical  Introduction.  xiii 

until  that  fatal  turning  point,  when  the  day  was,  with  a  vengeance,  done 
to  a  tea — a  thoroughly  disastrous  tea  and  turn  out — at  Celbridge.   There, 
for  one  of  the  revellers  at  least,  the  paternal  hospitalities,  those,  that  is  to 
say,  of  the  elder  Sheehan,  were  all  but  within  an  ace  of  illustrating,  quite 
literally,  what  is  meant  by  the  phrase  of  killing  mth  kindness.     Modera- 
tion, until  then,  had  been  the  order  of  the  festivities.      A  solitary  tumbler 
of  whisky  punch,  for  example,  had  sufficed  for  each  excursionist  as  the 
accompaniment  to  the  homely  banquet  partaken  of  with  a  relish  by  "the 
boys '"'  at  the  Hotel  in  ]\Ia)Tiooth.     A  hundred  thousand  welcomes  {ccad 
mille  failthe)  aM^aited  them,  all  too  generously,  as  the  sequel  proved,  at 
Celbridge.     "  If  the  fatted  calf  was  not  killed  " — Mr.  Sheehan "s  ingenuous 
ipsissima   verba   are   here   given — "there   was,   as   they   said   in    Ireland 
of   old,     'a    fire    lit    under    the    pump,'    or,     speaking   less   poetically, 
the   kitchen  boiler  was   ready  to   overflowing  for  what  promised   to   be 
an  exceptionally  wet   evening."     As  for  the  beverage   actually  giving   a 
name  to  the  meal,   it  turned  out  to  be    nothing   better  than  the  merest 
preliminary.     As   a   sequel  to   the  tea,  with  its  Brobdingnagian  accom- 
paniment  of   hot   tea-cake,    hight    Barnbrack,    a   luscious    compound  of 
flour  and  eggs,  thickly  sown  with  raisins,  there  came  in,  in  relays,  to  be 
again  and  again  replenished,   huge  decanters    of  mountain  dew  freshly 
distilled,    capacious  bowls  of  sugar  and  ample  jugs  of  screeching  water, 
renewed  with  proportionate  frequency,      ' '  I  don't  know  how  many  songs 
we  sang,"  confesses  the    younger   Sheehan,    in   this  reminiscence  of  his 
bibulous  boyhood,  "how  many  patriotic  toasts  and  personal  healths  we 
proposed,  how  many  speeches  we  made,  how  many  decanters  we  emptied." 
At  the  head  of  the  too  hospitable  board  sat  the  evidently  not  unworthy 
sire  of  one  who  was  so  soon  afterwards  to  win  repute  to  himself  as,  by  pre- 
eminence,  The  Irish  Whisky  Drinker  I     At  the  foot  of  the  table  was  the 
universally  popular  Parish  Priest  of  Celbridge,  Father  Dan  Callinan,  soul- 
searching  as  a  pulpit  orator,  heart-stirring  as  the  singer  of  a  patriotic  song, 
and  true  master  of  the  revels  on  an  occasion  like  this,  if  he  happened  to  be 
called  upon  by  circumstances,  for  the  delivery  of  an  impromptu  harangue. 

The  speech  of  the  evening,  the  song  of  the  evening,  in  this  particular 
instance,  were  alike  Father  Dan's  ;  the  song  in  rapturous  tribute  to  Erin, 
the  speech  in  impassioned  praise  of  O'Connell.  The  Liberator  was 
already  even  then,  as  he  continued  to  be  increasingly  thenceforward  to  the 
very  last,  in  an  especial  manner,  Mahony "s  bete  iioir  or  pet  aversion.  Father 
Callinan's  paneg}'ric  on  the  victorious  champion  of  Catholic  Emancipa- 
tion, while  it  suddenly  roused  the  ire,  stirred  up  all  the  bile  and  virulence 
of  his  systematic  depredator,  the  self-willed  and  hot-headed  young 
^Master  of  Rhetoric.  When  the  ringing  cheers  which  marked  the  close  of 
Father  Dan's  encomium  upon  O'Connell  had  at  length  died  away,  the 
sarcastic  voice  of  Mahony  was  heard  raised,  to  every  one's  amazement,  in 
caustic  dissent.  Some  of  the  most  scornful  lines  in  Byron's  Irish  Avatar 
were  quoted  by  him  against  the  Liberator,  with  the  added  sting  of  the  fine 
Cork  brogue  with  which  they  v%ere  articulated.  Hot  words  elicited  words 
still  hotter,  fierce  taunts  provoked  taimts  yet  fiercer,  the  disputants  at  the 
table  being  all  the  rest  against  the  one  solitan,-  dissentient,  who  was 
denounced  in  speech  after  speech  as  the  degenerate  son  of  Ireland.  Hap- 
pily in  the  end,  as  Saul's  wrath,  when  at  its  worst,  was  appeased  by  the  j 
harp  of  David,  the  war  of  discord  was  drowned  by  the  harmonious  voic3    ' 


XIV 


Biographical  Introduction. 


of  Father  Callinan,  opportunely  trolling  out  a  ditty,  the  closing  rhymes 
of  which  celebrated,  thus,  the  intertwining  of  the  national  emblems — 

Then  let  thy  native  shamrock  shine  in  rays  of  triple  gleaming, 

And  Scotland's  thistle  round  entwine,  the  rose  betwixt  them  beaming. 

A  couple  of  hours  later  than  was  intended  the  little  impromptu  orgie 
broke  up  to  many  a  hearty  hand-grip  and  cordial  clinking  of  the  stirrup 
cup  among  the  revellers.  Excited  by  argument  and  heated  with  potations, 
the  youngsters,  immediately  upon  their  emerging  into  the  open  air  to 
return  to  Clongowes,  found  themselves  completely  vanquished  by  the  very 
coolness  and  freshness  of  the  evening  atmosphere. 

Confusedly,  in  a  straggling  way,  they  had  barely  accomplished  the  first 
mile  of  their  return  journey  when  their  discomfiture  was  completed  by 
the  sudden  outburst  of  an  autumnal  tempest  of  thunder  and  lightning, 
with  rain  in  such  overwhelming  torrents  that  they  were  drenched  to  the  skin 
within  a  few  minutes  from  its  commencement.  This  climax  of  calamity 
appears  to  have  had  its  sobering  influence  upon  two  or  three  of  the 
least  youthful  members  of  the  little  party,  foremost  among  them,  of  course, 
the  young  ]\Iaster  of  Rhetoric,  now  thoroughly  awakened,  at  the  eleventh 
hour  and  three-quarters,  to  a  recognition  of  his  responsibility.  Mercifully, 
when  affairs  were  at  this  supreme  juncture,  some  Bog  of  Allen  carmen 
opportunely  came  to  the  rescue,  like  so  many  dei  ex  machind,  tramping  by 
leading  their  cars,  laden  with  black  turf,  on  their  way  to  Dublin.  But  for 
their  providential  interposition  thus,  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  the  imminent 
probability  is  that  the  boys,  ' '  much  bemused  with"  potheen  and  half-drowned 
by  thunder  showers,  must  inevitably  have  scattered  away  in  the  darkness 
and  before  morning  have  succumbed.  A  costly  bargain  having  been  made, 
however,  with  the  peat-gatherers,  the  drenched  and  stupefied  urchins  w^ere 
bound  with  the  car  ropes  on  to  the  top  of  the  turf-loads  by  the  bogmen,  the 
cavalcade,  in  this  miserable  plight,  wending  their  way  slowly  towards 
their  destination. 

Not  until  midnight  was  the  outer  gate  of  the  College  at  length  reached. 
Watchers  were  there  on  the  look-out  with  lanterns.  The  whole  estab- 
lishment was  in  trepidation.  One  after  another,  the  unconscious  way- 
farers were  unbound  from  their  al  fresco  peat  beds  and  carried 
into  the  entrance  hall  of  Clongowes.  To  the  momentary  horror  of  the 
Rector,  upon  counting  their  number  up,  one,  it  turned  out,  was  missing, 
who  was,  however,  eventually  discovered  in  a  state  of  collapse  half-buried 
away  in  one  of  the  peat-cars.  Extricated  from  the  superincumbent  turf, 
to  all  appearance  dead,  he  was,  by  order  of  the  house  apothecary,  plunged 
as  quickly  as  possible  into  a  hot  bath,  a  bath  so  hot  that  upon  his  immersion, 
though  he  was  restored  to  life,  he  was,  as  his  brother  collegian  Sheehan 
has  related,  peeled,  before  the  close  of  the  next  fortnight,  from  the  nape 
of  the  neck  to  the  tendon  Achilles.  The  Rector  of  the  College,  Father 
Kenny,  as  could  alone  have  been  reasonably  expected  under  the  circum- 
stances, was  profoundly  indignant  with  every  one  concerned  in  what 
appeared  to  him  so  disgraceful  a  saturnalia,  but  most  of  all,  of  course, 
with  the  young  master,  who  was  especially  in  charge  of  the  ill-fated  cours- 
ing party.  As  the  result  of  the  incident,  Mahony  resigned  his  chair  as 
Master  of  Rhetoric  almost  immediately  after  these  occurrences,  and  before 
Christmas  bade  adieu  to  Clongowes  on  his  return  to  the  Continent. 


Biographical  Introduction.  xv 

Passing  through  Paris,  Mahony  went  on  for  a  M'hile  to  the  College  of  the 
Jesuits  at  f^reiburg,  whence,  after  a  few  months'  hesitation  as  to  the  course 
he  ought  in  prudence  to  pursue,  he  proceeded  once  more  to  Rome,  there  to 
settle  down  again  among  his  old  haunts,  though  not  in  his  old  quarters. 
During  this,  for  him  more  or  less  anxious  sojourn  in  the  Eternal  City,  he 
continued,  with  exemplaiy  regularity,  to  attend  theological  lectures  for 
two  years  together,  lodging  the  while  out  of  college  at  his  own  expense. 

The  opinion  of  the  Jesuit  Fathers  was  still  resolutely  opposed,  not 
merely  to  the  desire  he  persistently  cherished  of  being  enrolled  in  the 
Society,  but  to  the  ambition  which,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles,  continued 
to  possess  him  of  being,  at  any  rate  as  a  secular,  ordained  to  the 
priesthood.  The  declared  ambition  of  his  life  was  to  become — Sacerdos. 
\Yhatever  obstructions  were  placed  in  his  path,  and  there  were  many, 
appeared  only  to  strengthen  his  resolve  that  this  one  dominant  desire 
of  his  nature,  in  spite  of  eveiything  that  could  be  said  to  the  contrary, 
should  be  realized.  Years  afterwards  he  repented,  when  it  was  altogether 
too  late,  that,  in  this  vital  matter  for  him,  he  had  set  all  reasoning  at 
defiance.  As  he  frankly  acknowledged  to  Consignor  Rogerson,  who  had 
the  happiness  at  the  last  of  reconciling  him  to  the  Church  of  God  and  of 
administering  to  him  the  last  sacraments,  he  himself  was  "  determined  to 
enter  the  Church,  in  spite  of  Jesuit  opinion."  Not  merely  of  his  own 
perfect  free  will,  therefore,  but  literally  by  reason  of  his  rooted  self-willed 
persistence  he  was,  for  once  and  for  all,  signed  on  the  forehead  and  the 
hands  with  the  sacred  clirism,  and  enrolled  a  priest  forever  according  to  the 
order  of  Melchisedek.  Diraissory  letters  to  that  end  having  been  ob- 
tained from  the  Bishop  of  Cork,  the  Rev.  Francis  Mahony  was  ordained 
at  Lucca,  thenceforth  standing  before  the  world — Presbyter.  It  has  been 
stated,  in  error,  that  not  very  long  after  his  ordination  to  the  Priesthood 
Father  Mahony,  in  obedience  to  instructions  from  his  bishop,  the  Right 
Rev.  Dr.  Murphy,  not  only  joined  the  Cork  ]Mission,  but  acted  for  a  time 
as  chaplain  to  one  of  the  hospitals  in  his  native  city,  in  1832,  during  the 
terrible  cholera  visitation.  As  a  simple  matter  of  fact  he  never  in  life 
returned  to  Cork  after  the  date  of  his  ordination.  He  frequently  said 
mass  both  in  France  and  in  Italy,  occasionally  even  officiating  in  London 
shortly  after  his  first  return  in  his  priestly  character  to  England.  ]\Iore 
than  once  he  preached  from  the  pulpit  of  the  Spanish  Ambassador's 
chapel  near  Manchester  Square,  and  at  intervals  assisted  in  his  parochial 
labours  the  well  kno\Ma  Dr.  iMagee,  who  was  facetiously  dubbed  about 
that  period  by  O'Connell  the  Abbot  of  Westminster. 

All  too  soon,  however,  for  his  o\\x\.  happiness,  because  mihappily,  of 
course,  all  too  late  for  any  possible  rectification  of  his  own  grievous  error 
of  judgment  in  the  matter,  Mahony  awakened  to  a  recognition  of  the 
painful  tinith  that  his  Jesuit  preceptors  had  been  right  from  the  first,  and 
that  in  ranning  counter  to  their  earnest  wishes  and  advice  he  had  become 
a  priest  without  any  true  vocation.  Thenceforth,  through  nobody's  fault 
but  his  o^^"n,  he  stood  before  the  world,  and  before  the  Church  until  all 
but  the  ver}-  end,  in  a  distinctly  false  position.  There  was  something 
essentially  unclerical  in  the  mocking  spii-it  'U'ith  which  he  regarded  the 
men  and  things,  not  actually  consecrated  to  religion,  that  fell  under  his 
immediate  observation.  A  scoffer  at  Christianity  or  a  depredator  of 
Catholicism  he  constantly  looked  upon  from  first  to  last  with  abhorrence. 


xvl  Biographical  Introduction. 


Conscious  at  all  times,  in  the  midst  of  the  incongruities  of  his  after  life,  of 
the  permanent  eftect  of  the  anointing  from  which  there  was  no  possibility 
of  escape— the  sacred  chrism  leaving,  as  he  knew,  a  mark  that  was  abso- 
lutely indelible — he  was  keenly  alive  to,  and  always  instantly  resented, 
any  semblance  even,  under  any  conceivable  circumstances,  of  a  slight  put 
upon  him,  whether  directly  or  indirectly,  in  his  priestly  character. 

Having  once  realized  to  the  full  that  by  nature,  instinct,  temperament, 
nay,  by  his  whole  idiosyncrasy,  he  was  far  more  of  the  man  of  letters 
than  of  the  ecclesiastic,  his  very  sense  of  reverence  constrained  him  first 
of  all  into  relaxing  and  eventually  into  foregoing  altogether  the  ques- 
tionable luxury  of  continuing  to  exercise  his  sacerdotal  functions.  His 
office  -he  still  loved  to  con.  His  breviaiy  remained  to  the  last  his 
constant  companion.  //,  and  neither  Horace  nor  Beranger,  both  of 
whom  he  knew  pretty  well  by  heart,  he  delighted  to  carry  about  with 
him  in  his  pocket.  Refraining,  as  has  been  said,  out  of  his  very  sense 
of  reverence,  from  venturing  any  longer  within  the  sanctuary,  there  to 
offer  up  with  his  own  hands  at  the  altar  the  sacrifice  of  the  mass,  he  drifted 
away  little  by  little  from  the  ordinary  practices  of  religion.  The  Roman 
collar  was  doff"ed.  The  soutane  Avas  abandoned.  A  biretta  never  any 
longer  pressed  his  broad  temples  :  yet  while  these  evidences  of  the  priest 
were  one  after  another  stripped  away,  the  presbyter-turned-man-of- 
letters  still  asserted  himself  in  the  semi-clerical  costume  he  thenceforth 
adopted.  A  threadbare  black  it  may  be  said  was  from  that  time  forward 
his  only  wear,  as  indeed  in  some  sort  best  became  so  scholarly  a  Bohemian. 
Dropping  gradually  out  of  further  association  with  his  brother  ecclesiastics, 
he  found  entirely  new  and  in  some  respects  more  congenial  companions 
among  the  contributors  to  the  magazines  and  newspapers  with  which  he 
soon  afterwards  came  to  be  connected. 

In  the  calm  retrospect  which  can  be  taken,  now,  of  his  long  completed 
career,  it  seems  to  have  been  a  circumstance  curiously  illustrative  of  its,  so 
to  speak,  slipshod,  and  haphazard  character  that  while  in  the  earlier  half 
of  his  literary  life  he  was  hand-and-glove  with  the  ultra-Conservatives 
when  writing  for  Eraser's  Magazine  and  Bentley's  Aliscellany,  he  was  in 
its  later  moiety  just  as  intimate  with  the  ultra-Liberals  when  he  was  corre- 
sponding from  Rome  with  the  Daily  A-eivs  and  from  Paris  with  the  Globe 
—addressing  the  latter  under  the  guise  of  a  sort  of/«;/t7^;--bookworm,  and 
the  former  under  the  nom  de  phime  of  the  Benedictine  Monk  Don  Jeremy 
Savonarola. 

Constitutionally  arrogant  and  self-opinionated  though  he  showed  him- 
self to  be  throughout  his  whole  life  as  a  disputant,  he  nevertheless  con- 
trived at  all  times  to  foregather,  no  less  pleasurably  for  others  than  for  him- 
self, with  men  of  both  the  great  political  parties— his  ready  Avit,  combined 
with  his  ripe  scholarship,  not  infrequently  securing  to  him  the  maintenance 
of  these  amicable  relations  with  antagonists  whom  his  ferocity  of  attack 
must  otherwise  have  utterly  estranged.  A  perfect  master  of  fence  in  argu- 
ment, he  disdained  to  wear  the  wire  mask  himself,  or  the  button  on  his  foil. 
Cut  and  thrust,  carte  and  tierce  were  of  no  interest  whatever  to  him 
unless,  in  those  fierce  bouts  of  disputation  in  which  he  delighted,  he,  and 
of  course  his  opponent  in  like  manner,  had  each  full  privilege  allowed, 
so  to  speak,  of  drawing  blood  ad  libiliitn  whenever  the  opportunity  for 
so  doing  might  present  itself  to  either.      Sharper  things  were  then  said 


Biogi'apJiical  Introduction.  xvii 

and  written  than  are  now  dreamt  of  in  our  social  philosophy.  Regitta 
and  Maga  flung  vitriol  and  wielded  bludgeons  while  dispensing  their 
criticisms.  Lord  Alvanley,  looking  into  the  cadaverous  face  of  Samuel 
Rogers,  could  c}Tiically  raise  the  laugh  in  those  days  against  his  corpse-like 
friend,  the  poet-banker — not,  we  may  be  certain,  as  adding  thereby  another 
to  his  Pleasures  of  Memor}' — by  observing  interrogatively,  "  I  say,  Rogers, 
why  don't  you  start  your  hearse  ?  you're  rich  enough  1 "  The  amenities  of 
life  were  not  only  fewer  then  than  they  are  now-a-days,  but  were  of  a 
wholly  different  character.  Indiarubber  tyres,  C  springs,  and  M'ooden 
pavements  being  comparatively  unknown,  the  ways  of  the  world  were  less 
smooth  and  the  torturing  jolts  more  frequent. 

It  happened  by  good  fortune  for  Mahony,  at  the  very  juncture  when  he 
v/as  preparing  to  open  up  a  new  path  for  himself  in  literature,  that  a 
monthly  periodical  was  just  at  that  time  springing  into  celebrity  in  London, 
with  fair  promise  of  rivalling  in  vigour  and  originality  its  already  famous 
senior  by  thirteen  years,  Blackiuood  of  Edinburgh.  This  was  Fras€7-'s 
Jllagazim',  for  Town  and  Countn,-,  the  initial  number  of  which  was  pub- 
lished on  the  1st  of  Februar}-,  1830.  It  had  been  but  a  little  more 
than  four  years  in  existence  when  there  was  quietly  enrolled  one  day  upon 
its  staff  a  new  contributor,  who  immediately,  upon  his  voice  becoming 
audible,  was  recognized  by  all  as  indeed  an  acquisition.  The  originator  of 
the  Magazine  it  may  here,  however,  be  first  remarked  was  Hugh  Fraser, 
its  publisher  being  his  brother  James  Fraser,  and  its  standpoint  in  London 
215,  Regent  Street.  There,  at  regularly  recurrent  intervals,  the  contributors 
were  in  the  habit  of  assembling  convivially  in  S}Tnposium.  Less  than  a 
twelvemonth  after  the  new  recruit  had  accepted  the  colours  of  Regina  and 
the  coin  of  enlistment,  there  was  shadowed  forth  upon  a  varnished 
copper-plate,  by  the  rapid  movements  of  an  etching-needle  held  in  the 
hand  of  one  Alfred  Croquis — a  young  Irishman  afterwards  renowned  in 
the  world  of  art  as  Daniel  Maclise,  the  Royal  Academician — the  reflection, 
as  like  as  life,  of  one  of  these  famous  gatherings.  "The  Fraserian?,''"to 
the  number  of  seven-and- twenty,  are  there  depicted,  each  of  them  with  a 
marvellous  verisimilitude.  Two  alone  at  this  present  writing  are  still 
survivors.  The  rest — a  quarter  of  a  hundred  in  all — have  long  since,  one 
after  another,  gone  over  to  the  majority.  The  pair  yet  extant  are  the  now 
veteran  Carlyle  and  the  then  eminently  handsome  young  novelist  Harri- 
son Ains'Aorth.  Glasses  and  decanters  scattered  about  the  finiit-laden 
board.  Dr.  Maginn,  then  Editor  oi  Frasej%  has  just  risen  to  give  the  toast  of 
the  evening.  Upon  either  side  of  him,  in  the  background,  are  the  two  name- 
less attendants — one,  a  Sydney  Smith-like  butler  in  the  act  of  decanting  an 
especial  magnum  of  port,  the  other  an  assistant  flunkey  extracting  with  an 
all  but  audible  cloop  the  cork  from  a  fresh  bottle.  Coleridge,  Thackeray, 
Lockhart,  Southey,  D'Orsay  are  among  those  present  who  are  the  most 
readily  distinguishable.  Immediately  to  the  left  of  ^Maginn,  as  he  stands 
there  delicately  resting  the  tips  of  his  fingers  on  the  table,  are  seated 
three  clerg}-men — Edward  Irving  of  the  Unknown  Tongues,  Gleig  the 
Army  Chaplain,  and  between  the  two.  shrewdly  peering  at  you  from  under 
his  eyebrows  and  over  his  spectacles,  Frank  Mahony. 

One  who  knew  several  of  the  Fraserian  set,  and  among  them  ]Mahony, — 
I  am  alluding  here  to  the  late  Charles  Lewis  Gruneisen,  the  accomplished 
musical  critic, — speaks  of  them  in  a  communication  addressed  by  him  to  the 


xviii  Biographical  Introduction. 


Pall  Mall  Gazette  on  the  25th  May,  1S66,  as  having  lived  thirty-two  years 
previously  in  a  dangerous  time,  when  club  life  was  in  its  infancy.  "The 
artistic  and  literar}' world,"  he  there  writes,  "congregated  chiefly  in  the 
small  hours,  in  strange  places.  The  painter,  the  sculptoi;,  the  actor,  the 
reviewer,  the  critic,  the  journalist,  the  barrister,  the  author,  nay,  even 
the  divine,  fraternized  in  coteries,  either  at  Eastey's  Hotel,  the  Widow's 
in  Saint  Martin's  Lane,  afterwards  in  Dean  Street,  Soho,  the  Coalhole, 
Offley's,  the  Eccentrics  in  May  Buildings,  the  Piazza,  the  Bedford,  and 
other  localities  familiar  to  the  few  sur\-ivor5.  The  Irish  and  Scotch  con- 
vivialists  in  their  visits  to  London,"  he  adds,  "considered  it  to  be  a 
marked  distinction  to  be  admitted  to  thjse  coteries,  at  a  period  when 
drinking  habits  were  in  the  ascendant."  Mahony's  tutelary  muse  at _  this 
juncture  might,  hardly  with  extravagance,  have  been  described  as  akin  to 
the  Fair}'  Philomel  in  Planche's  charming  extravaganza  of  "  The  Sleeping 
Beauty,"  of  whom  the  late  James  Bland,  that  true  King  of  Burlesque,  used 
to  exclaim — with  an  august  clearing  of  the  throat  beforehand — 

"  (Ahem  !) — we've  known  her  long. 
She  likes  a  jug  and  sings  a  tidy  song." 

According  to  Mr.  Gruneisen's  recollection,  Father  Prout's  vivacity  found 
vent  in  the  nocturnal  revels  just  now  referred  to,  "and,"  the  narrator 
goes  on  to  remark  in  so  many  words,  "he  never  had  sufficient  resolu- 
tion to  shake  off  the  convivial  habits  then  acquired."  It  was  about  that 
time  that  among  other  extravagant  freaks  of  scholarship  indulged  in  by 
Father  Prout  and  his  companions,  he,  in  association  among  others  with 
Dr.  Maginn,  Percival  Bankes,  and  John  (familiarly  Jack)  Churchill,  trans- 
lated, or,  as  Mahony  always  loved,  by  preference,  to  express  it,  upset 
into  various  dead  and  living  languages  the  then  ridiculously  popular  street 
song  of  "All  Round  my  Hat  I  wear  a  Green  Willow." 

As  a  philologist,  as  a  wit,  as  a  lyrist,  as  a  master  of  persiflage,  Frank 
Mahony  stepped  at  once  conspicuously  to  the  front  with  his  earliest  con- 
tribution to  Frasers  Magazine  in  the  April  of  1834.  His  communication 
there  came  to  the  readers  of  Regiiia  as  a  distinct  revelation.  It  introduced 
to  their  notice  one  who  forthwith  took  his  place  permanently  among  the 
typical  creations  of  our  national  literature.  In  setting  forth  what  was 
entitled  by  him,  with  an  air  of  delightful  gravity,  his  "  Apolog)-for  Lent," 
it,  in  the  very  act  of  recording  his  Death,  Obsequies,  and  Elegy,  made  the 
pulilic  at  large  acquainted  for  the  first  time  with  Father  Prout,  whose 
Reliques  thenceforth,  month  by  month  for  a  couple  of  years  together, 
while  they  formed  the  chief  attraction  of  Fraser,  substantially  built  up  for 
the  writer  himself  an  enduring  reputation. 

According  to  a  statement  put  forth  on  the  1 8th  January,  1875,  with  all 
apparent  seriousness,  by  Mr.  Nicholas  Mahony,  Justice  of  the  Peace  of 
lilarney,  in  a  letter  addressed  by  him  to  the  editor  of  the  "Final  Reliques," 
Father  Prout  was  in  some  sense  at  least  a  real  personage.  He  is  there  spoken 
of,  at  any  rate,  by  the  brother  of  the  scholarly  idealizer  of  his  character  who 
has  thus  given  his  name  immortality,  as  an  old  clergyman  who  was  intimate 
with  the  family  of  the  Mahonyswhen  they  were  children.  This  intimation 
it  is  especially  worthy  of  note,  however,  is  at  once  coupled  with  the  acknow- 
ledgment that  "  the  real  Father  Prout,"  as  he  is  gravely  called,  "  was  only 
remarkable  for  his  quiet  simple  manners!"    Precisely.    And  upon  an  exactly 


Biographical  Introduction.  xix 

• 

similar  showing  it  might  just  as  reasonably  be  argued  that  Bob  Fagin, 
the  boy  who  helped  to  paste  the  labels  on  the  pots  of  blacking  down  at 
Hungerford  ^Market  when  Charles  Dickens  was  for  a  \\hile  there,  in  his 
childhood,  as  "  a  little  labouring  hind  "  at  Warren's  manufactor}^  was  the 
veritable  germ  of  the  infamous  Jew  in  "  Oliver  Twist  "  who  goaded  Sikes 
on  to  the  murder  of  Nancy,  and  who  is  himself  given  over  in  the  end  to 
the  hangman's  hands  at  Newgate  as  an  accomplice  of  the  malefactor,  A 
scene  and  a  designation  may  not  improbably  in  this  matter  have  been 
adopted  for  the  nonce  as  suggestive  of  a  theme  by  Frank  Mahony  ;  but  he 
it  was  who,  by  his  very  mode  of  adopting  it,  made  that  theme  his  o^vn, 
and  in  the  true  Shaksperian  sense  as  a  creator  imparted  to  it  perennially 
in  return  a  "  local  habitation  and  a  name."  The  original  Father  Prout — 
original  so  far,  that  is,  as  the  appellation  and  the  venue  are  concerned — may, 
without  doubt,  have  been,  as  indeed  is  stated  on  that  veiy  same  page  of 
the  "Final  Reliques,"  by  another  witness,  Mr.  James  Murphy,  from  1 800 
to  1830,  in  which  latter  year  he  died,  parish  priest,  at  Watergrasshill.  But, 
for  all  this,  the  true  Father  Prout — the  still  living  and  breathing  Father 
Prout  of  whom  we  read  in  the  Reliques,  and  who  there  talks  to  us  all  in  a 
voice  that  has  long  since  become  perfectly  familiar — is  no  other  than  Mahony's 
own  innermost  other  self,  not  so  much  flesh  of  his  flesh  and  bone  of  his 
bone,  as,  from  his  whole  nature  and  genius,  through  brain  and  heart,  his 
most  intimate  self-revelation.  Guided  to  his  right  destiny  when  following 
in  obedience  to  his  first  impulse  the  earliest  conception  formed  by  him  of 
that  delightful  alter  ego,  one  is  tempted  to  say  that  Mahony  by  a  happy 
instinct  strolled  from  the  Groves  of  Blarney  to  the  Groves  of  Academe. 

Let  who  will  turn  the  leaves,  however  cursorily,  of  those  racy  and  indi- 
genous Reliques,  he  will  for  certain  acquire  a  relish  for  them  and  a  familiarity 
with  them  far  more  readily  than  he  imagines.  The  potheen  has  not  about 
it  a  tang  more  appetizing.  The  brogue  is  not  more  instantly  suggestive  of 
exhilaration.  For,  with  a  very  literal  truth,  has  he  not  himself  hit  off  to 
a  T  his  own  highest  faculty  as  a  writer  in  those  words  of  his  already 
inscribed  upon  the  fly-leaf  of  these  collected  *'  Works  of  Father  Prout "  as 
their  most  fitting  motto  ? — words  in  which  the  Reliques  are  described  in 
the  aptest  possible  way  as  "  a  new  combination  of  the  Teian  lyre  and  the 
Irish  bagpipe,  of  the  Ionian  dialect  blending  harmoniously  with  the  Cork 
brogue,"  or,  yet  more  tersely  even,  as  "  an  Irish  potato  seasoned  with  Attic 
salt."  Discoursing  thus,  ostensibly  in  the  posthumous  voice  of  the  parish 
priest  of  Watergrasshill,  but  really  in  his  own,  he  for  twenty-four  months 
together  through  Fraser's  Magazine  flung  abroad  in  lavish  handfuls  the 
largess  of  his  accumulated  wit  and  learning,  scattering  them  about  pell- 
mell,  according  to  the  whim  of  the  moment,  with  reference  to  whatever 
subject-matter  chanced  to  come  uppemiost.  As  a  critic,  there  was  but  too 
often  something  scurrile  in  his  acerbity.  As  a  lyrist,  his  songs  had  for  the 
most  part  a  lilting  swing  that  bore  all  before  them.  The  personalities 
and  nicknames  with  which  he  pelted  the  motley  throng  of  those  who 
in  any  way  excited  his  antipathy,  must  have  bred  ill  blood  enough  at 
the  time  of  their  first  publication,  and  read  even  now  most  offensively 
when  the  passion  of  the  hour  has  long  subsided. 

For  "real  larky  fun,"  as  James  Hannay  admirably  expressed  it  in 
the  N'orth  British  Rez'ieTV,  Father  Front's  lucubrations  are  scarcely  to 
be    surpassed.       Six    years    before    he    thus    laughingly    eulogized    the 


XX  Biographical  Introduction. 

Reliques,  the  same  animated  writer  enlarged  with  gusto  in  the  Universal 
RevLio  upon  their  general  excellence  as  "  a  piquant  mixture  of  tor}'ism, 
classicism,  sarcasm,  and  punch."  Evidencing  therein,  as  Mahony  did, 
in  a  hundred  whimsical  ways,  that  he  knew  Latin  quite  as  well  as  either 
Erasmus  or  Buchanan  ;  he  showed  his  love  for  the  classics,  as  Hannay 
dehciously  put  it,  "as  a  father  shows  his  love  for  his  children — by  play- 
ing with  them. "  While  doing  this,  moreover,  he  may  be  said,  through 
the  medium  of  his  gravefaced  imputations  of  plagiarism,  to  have  invented 
a  system  of  intellectual  torture  until  then  undreamt  of,  the  poignant 
operation  of  which  he,  besides,  in  a  manner  perfected  through  his  cruelly 
ingenious  method  of  applying  it  by  preference  to  the  geuiis  irntahile.  And 
if,  according  to  Lord  Brougham's  scathing  phrase.  Lord  Campbell  could  be 
said  to  have  added  a  new  pang  to  the  agonies  of  death  by  threatening  to 
become,  his  biographer — a  threat  eventually  realized  in  the  shape  of  a 
supplementary  volume  to  the  "  Lives  of  the  Lord  Chancellors" — Father 
Prout  might  with  equal  truth  have  been  said  by  Moore  to  have  added  a 
new  pang  to  the  agonies  of  living  by  the  triumphant  skill  with  which  he 
affected  to  demonstrate  that  the  "Irish  Melodies,"  so  far  from  being  in  any 
way  original  effusions,  were  many  of  them  no  better  than  sly  borrowings  by 
translation  from  the  Greek,  the  Latin,  or  the  French  !  The  Greek  of  an 
unnamed  disciple  of  Anacreon,  the  Latin  of  Prout  himself,  ipsissivia  verba, 
the  French  of  the  ill-starred  ^Marquis  Cinq-^klars  !  Who  that  has  ever 
dipped  into  the  "Rogueries"  can  be  blind  to  the  verisimilitude  of  the 
Padre's  shadowing  forth  there  in  classic  verse,  at  one  and  the  same  time 
of  the  Xora  Creina  of  Moore,  and  of  the  Julia  of  Prout's  fellow-cleric 
of  the  Hesperides,  Robert  Herrick  ?  Who  cannot  see  that  Mahony  bore 
equally  in  mind  r^Ioore's  rapturous  ejaculation, 

"  O  my  Nora's  gown  for  me, 

That  floats  as  wild  as  mountain  breezes. 
Leaving  every  beauty  free 

To  sink  or  swell  as  Heaven  pleases  ;" 

and  with  it  Herrick's  ecstatic  allusion  to  what  he  terms  "  the  liquefaction 
of  her  [Julia's]  clothes,"  where  he  exclaims,  in  regard  to  their 

" brave  vibrations  each  v/ay  free, 

O  how  their  glittering  taketh  me  1 " 

when,  in  the  good  Father's  blending  of  his  recollection  of  the  two  in  his 
harmonious  numbers,  he  added  a  perfecting  chanii  to  each  in  his — 

"  Nora;  tunicam  prseferres. 
Flante  zephyro  volantem  ; 
Oculis  et  raptis  erres 
Contemplando  ambulantem?" 

Mahony  was  just  thirty  years  of  age  when  he  assumed  his  place — a  fore- 
most one  from  the  very  first  by  right  of  his  wit  and  learning — among  the 
select  band  of  the  contributors  to  Fraser's  Mai^azi)u\  His  earliest  paper 
there,  the  first  of  the  four-and-lwenty  making  up  the  aggregate  after  the 
lapse  of  a  little  more  than  two  years  of  the  now  famous  Reliques,  made  its 
appearance,  as  already  observed,  in  the  number  of  AV^';/(7  for  April,  1834. 
It  introduced  the  reader  at  once  to  a  new  and  delightful  personality, 
thenceforth  perennially  existent  in  the  familiar  dreamland  of  English 
literature— that  of  the   Reverend    Father   Andrew   Prout,    Parish   Priest 


Biographical  Introduction.  xxi 

of  Watergrasshill.  Its  sequel,  a  month  later  on,  gave,  parenthetically, 
as  it  might  be  said,  vouchers  to  the  more  incredulous  for  his  having 
actually  existed  in  the  flesh,  by  refemng  to  his  executors.  Father 
Magrath  the  elegiac  poet,  and  Father  Mat  Horrogan,  P.P.  of  the 
neighbouring  village  of  Blarney.  The  initial  paper,  under  the  guise 
of  "An  Apology  for  Lent,"  not  only  revealed  to  all  comers  in  an  off- 
hand way  the  vu'nare  of  the  good  Father  of  Watergrasshill,  but  enabled 
them  to  realize  with  a  relish  his  taste  both  for  creature  comforts  and  for 
classical  scholarship.  The  May  number,  which  in  its  turn  was  entitled  "A 
Plea  for  Pilgrimages,"  rendered  them  besides  for  once  and  for  all  intimate 
with  his  immediate  pastoral  surroundings,  while  it  familiarized  them  with 
much  that  was  odd  and  with  more  that  was  attractive  in  his  compan- 
ions, his  visitors,  and  his  conversation.  Then,  moreover,  was  made 
clear  to  the  comprehension  of  all,  the  abounding  vivacity  with  which 
Mahony  revelled  in  his  mastery  over  both  the  ancient  and  modem 
languages.  The  earliest  testimony  afforded  by  him  of  his  holding  thus 
completely  under  his  command  not  only  the  resources  of  the  two  gi^eat 
classic  tongues,  but  of  Norman-French  as  well,  was  his  turning,  as  by  a 
very  toui'  de  force,  Millikin's  roystering  celebration  of  "The  Groves  of 
Blarney  "  into  a  triple  polyglot — "'  Blameum  Xemus,"  'H  'TAtj  BKapviKt],  and 
"  Le  Bois  de  Blarnaye. "  Appended  to  these  at  the  time  was  the  fragment  of 
a  version  of  the  same  ditty  in  Celtic,  which  purported  to  have  been  copied 
from  an  antique  manuscript  preserved  in  the  King's  Library  at  Copen- 
hagen ;  an  Italian  version,  "I  Boschicli  Blamea,  "being  set  forth  by  Mahony 
upwards  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  afterwards  as  having  been  sung  by 
Garibaldi  on  the  25th  ^Nlay,  1859,  among  the  woods  near  Lake  Como — 
Italic,  Celtic,  Gallic,  Doric,  Vulgate,  each  serio-comically  purporting  to  be 
the  veritable  prototype  of  the  merely  reputed  original,  the  Corcagian ! 

"Father  Prout's  Carousal,"  as  reported  in  the  third  instalment  of  the 
Reliques,  which  was  published  in  the  June  number  of  Fraser,  was  taken 
rather  gravely  to  heart,  as  it  happened,  among  the  population  of  Cork  by 
reason  of  the  liberal  use  made  therein  of  the  names  of  some  of  its  leading 
inhabitants.  George  Knapp,  Dick  Dowden,  Jack  Bellew,  Dan  Corbet, 
Bob  Olden,  and  Friar  O'^NIeara,  were  but  the  chorus,  however,  attendant 
upon  Sir  Walter  Scott,  the  illustrious  guest  of  the  incumbent  of  Water- 
grasshill. As  to  the  bandying  of  grotesque  fun  and  erudite  sarcasms 
between  Scott  and  Prout  in  this  paper,  it  may  be  regarded  as  reaching  its 
climax  where  Sir  Walter,  in  answer  to  the  Padre's  bantering  inquiry  as 
to  whether  he  is  any  relation  of  that  ornament  of  the  Franciscan  order, 
the  great  irrefragable  doctor.  Duns  Scotus,  replies,  ' '  No,  I  have  not  that 
honour ;"  adding  at  once,  however,  slyly,  "but  I  have  read  what  Erasmus 
says  of  certain  of  your  fraternity,  in  a  dialogue  between  himself  and  the 
Echo  : 

(Erasmus  loqjiitur).    'Quid  est  sacerdotium ? 
^  (KcHO  respondit).     Otium!' — 

Prout  at  once  turning  the  gibe  aside  with  the  laughing  rejoinder,  "That 
reminds  me  of  Lardner's  idea  of  '  otium  cum  dignitate,'  which  he  purposes 
to  read  thus — othwi  cum  digghi'  'faties  ! "  In  the  course  of  the  ' '  Carousal " 
occurs  the  Padre's  noble  version  in  Latin  of  Campbell's  "  Hohenlinden,"  the 
ringing  sapphics  of  his  "Prselium  apud  Hohenlinden  "  not  unworthily  echo- 


xxii  Biographical  Introduction. 

ing  the  heroic  orighial.  There  also  he  gave  the  first  cruel  foretaste  of  his 
more  highly  elaborated  onslaught,  two  months  later,  upon  Moore,  when 
he  adduced,  with  the  matchless  effrontery  of  his  persiflage,  what  he  coolly 
announced  as  the  Latin  original  of  "Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old," 
beginning 

"  O  !  ulinam  sanos  mea  lerna  recogitet  annos  !  " 

It  was  in  the  fourth  of  the  Prout  papers,  which  appeared  in  the  July 
number  of  Kcgina,  that  Mahony,  indulging  in  the  same  eccentric  pastime, 
imputed  to  Byron  the  like  delinquency  of  plagiarism,  pretending  to  have 
discovered  the  source  of  the  famous  apostrophe  to  Kirke  White,  familiar 
to  the  readers  of  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  in  the  dainty 
verses  of  a  purely  imaginary  young  French  poet,  hight  Chenedolle. 

A  score  of  equally  brilliant,  bizarre,  fantastic,  and  hilarious  contributions 
from  the  hand  of  Frank  ^Mahony  followed  these  in  rapid  and  almost  un- 
broken succession  through  the  double-columned  pages  of  Regina,  until,  in 
1836,  the  whole  were  collected  together  in  two  volumes  for  separate  publi- 
cation as  "Father  Prout's  Reliques. "  Maclise — who  had  been  all  the  while 
embellishing  Frascr  month  after  month  with  a  series  of  wonderfully  etched 
portraits  of  the  literary  celebrities  of  that  generation — to  three  of  which, 
by  the  way,  those  of  Henry  O'Brien,  L.  E.  L.,  and  Beranger,  Mahony 
himself  furnished  the  letterpress  accompaniment — enhanced  the  interest  and 
attraction  of  the  reissued  Reliques  by  interspersing  them  with  a  number 
of  eminently  characteristic  illustrations.  Eighteen  in  number,  these  em- 
bellishments were  announced  on  the  new  title-page,  under  the  artist's 
then  pseudonym,  as  from  the  pencil  of  Alfred  Croquis,  while  the  Reliques 
themselves  were  said  to  be  collected  and  arranged  by  Oliver  Yorke,  a 
noin  dc  plume  generally  usable  among  the  Fraserians,  as  though,  like 
Legion,  it  had  been  a  noun  of  multitude  signifying  many.  It  can  hardly 
be  regarded  indeed  as  having  been  applicable  in  any  distinctive  manner 
to  the  Editor  of /;v7i't';- himself,  Dr.  William  Maginn's  assumed  name  being 
unmistakably  Sir  Morgan  O'Dogherty,  as  Father  Prout  was  that  of  Francis 
Mahony, 

Before  continuing  this  record  of  the  few  and  slight  incidents  which 
mark  the  career  of  the  author  of  the  Reliques,  let  it  be  said  here  at  once 
that  incomparably  the  finest  of  them  all  is,  without  doubt,  the  sixth,  in 
which  Mahony  i)ays  his  tribute  of  respect  and  gi'atitude  to  his  Jesuit 
instructors.  "  Literature  and  the  Jesuits  "  is  the  title  of  it  ;  and  it  is  from 
the  celebration  of  the  apiaiy  in  the  "Georgics"  that  Mahony  has  aptly 
selected  his  motto — 

"Alii  spem  gentis  adultos 
Educunt  fiftus  :  alii  piirissima  raella 
Stipaiit,  et  liquido  distendunt  nectare  cellas." 

Ilis  theme  was  suggested  to  him  by  the  then  recent  massacre  of  fourteen 
Jesuits  in  the  College  of  St.  Isidore  at  Madrid.  Referring  at  the  outset 
of  his  paper  to  that  atrocity,  lie  is  inclined  to  think,  as  he  protests  with 
cutting  irony,  that,  with  all  due  respect  to  Dr.  Southey,  the  Poet 
Laureate,  Roderick  was  not  by  any  means  the  Last  of  the  Goths  in 
the  Iberian  peninsula.  It  is  characteristic  of  him  that,  even  against 
himself,  in  the  midst  of  his  emotional  enthusiasm  in  the  cause  of  his 
old  masters   in  literature,   he  cannot   help  cynically  hinting  a  suspicion 


BiograpJiical  Introdtcction.  xxiii 


that  he  has  a  sort  of  "drop  serene"  in  his  eye,  seeing  that  he  onlv, 
as  he  expresses  it,  winks  at  the  rogueries  of  the  Jesuits — never  reddenino- 
for  them  the  gridiron  on  which  he  gently  roasts  Moore  and  Lardner. 
Incidentally  in  a  casual  sentence  he  lays  down  a  proposition  which, 
looked  back  to  now,  seems  like  the  foreshadowing  of  the  noble  master- 
piece produced  years  afterwards  by  the  Count  de  Montalembert,  "  Les 
Moines  de  I'Occident  :  "  "  There  is  not,  perhaps  a  more  instructive  and 
interesting  subject  of  inquiry  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind  than  the 
origin,  progress,  and  workings  of  what  are  called  monastic  institutions." 

He  enumerates  with  exultation,  among  a  tlu'ong  of  other  illustrious 
pupils  of  the  great  Society,  Descartes,  Torricelli,  Tasso,  Bossuet,  Comeille, 
jMoliere,  Fontenelle,  Bellarmine,  Cornelius  a  Lapide,  Bourdaloue.  In  the 
vindication  of  them  as  undoubted  benefactors  to  their  fellow-creatures, 
physically  no  less  than  intellectually,  he  recalls  to  mind  the  celebrity  achieved 
by  their  beneficent  medicaments,  asking,  for  himself,  who  has  not  heard  of 
Jesuits'  bark,  Jesuits'  drops,  Jesuits'  powders  ?  and,  with  Virgil — 

"  Quae  regio  in  terns  nostri  non  plena  laboris?" 

Grandly  he  sings,  there,  too,  in  his  owTi  voice,  though  nominally  in  that 
of  an  old  schoolfellow  of  Prout's,  who  died  in  1754,  as  a  Jesuit  Missionaiy 
in  Cochin  China,  the  noble  Latin  ode  in  which  he  commemorates  the  Vigil 
and  Triumphs  of  the  gi-eat  founder  of  the  Order,  Ignatius  Loyola — 

"  Tellus  gigantis  sentit  itur  ;  simul 
Idola  nutant,  fana  ruunt,  micat 
Christi  triumphantis  trophceum, 
Cruxque  novos  numeral  clientes." 

Persecuted  from  generation  to  generation  ;  ruthlessly  expelled  from  Venice  ; 
twice  (it  maybe  said  now,  thrice)  driven  ignominiously from  France,  where, 
thrust  out  of  the  door,  they  returned  through  the  window  ;  executed  by  the 
dozen,  here,  in  England  ;  encountering  stripes,  perils,  and  incarcerations  as 
numerous  as  those  of  St.  Paul,  in  Poland,  Germany,  Portugal  and  Hungary 
— the  Society's  march  through  Europe  for  two  centuries  together,  Mahony 
finely  declares  to  be  alone  comparable  in  heroic  endurance  with  the  retreat  of 
the  ten  thousand  Greeks  under  Xenophon.  As  for  himself,  he  protests  that 
he  owes  everything  to  their  guidance,  finding  only  in  the  words  of  Tully  any 
adequate  expression  for  his  gratitude — "  Si  quid  est  in  me  ingenii,  judices 
(et  sentio  quam  sit  exiguum),  si  quae  exercitatio  ab  optimarum  artium  dis- 
ciplinis  profecta,  earum  rerum  fructum,  sibi,  suo  jure,  debent  repetere. " 
It  is  after  this  sustained  and  strenuous  avowal  of  his  sense  of  obligation  to 
the  Society  of  Jesus  that,  as  if  yielding  himself  up  at  once  to  the  irre- 
pressible resilience  of  his  nature  as  a  satiric  humorist,  he  evidently 
enough  for  the  sheer  relief  of  unbending  after  so  much  imwonted  serious- 
ness, upsets  into  English  verse  the  extravagant  drollery  of  the  Jesuit 
Cresset's  comic  poem  "  Vert-Vert,"  the  Parrot  who,  although  he  can  sing 
of  him  cne  while  in  the  days  of  his  original  innocence, 

"  Green  were  his  feathers,  green  his  pinions, 
And  greener  still  were  his  opinions," 

alternates,  to  the  delight  and  terror  of  the   Ursuline   community  of  whom 
he  was  the  boast,  between  the  saintly  and  the  satanic. 


xxiv  Biographical  Introduction. 

Having  unburdened  his  mind  thus  in  F?-ase7-  between  1834  and  1836  of 
a  good  deal  of  the  miscel!an::ous  load  of  familiar  humour  and  out-of-the- 
way  learning  that  nevertheless,  even  when  most  thickly  accumulated  there, 
always  sat  so  lightly  upon  it,  Mahony,  at  the  very  dawn  of  1837,  began 
poking  his  fun  anew  at  the  public  through  an  entirely  fresh  channel — that, 
namely,  which  was  opened  up  to  him  by  Dickens,  then  at  the  very  outset  of 
his  career,  when,  having  just  completed  "  Pickwick,"  and  dropped  the  mask 
of  "  Boz,"  he  inaugurated  under  his  editorship  a  new  monthly  venture  for 
the  million,  under  the  title  of  BentleVs  JMisccllany.  The  very  first  page  of 
the  new  periodical  was  Front's,  dated  Watergrasshill,  Kal.  Januarii,  entitled 
No.  I  of  "  Our  Songs  of  the  Month, "  It  was  an  effervescent  lyrical  draught 
from,  or  anent,  the  Bottle  of  St.  Januarius.  Exactly  a  year  afterwards,  in 
the  January  number  of  Bentley  for  1838,  another  and  somewhat  longer 
lyrical  effusion  from  the  same  pen  appeared  in  the  fomi  of  "A  Poetical 
Epistle  from  Father  Prout  to  Boz,"  under  date  Genoa,  the  14th  of  Decem- 
ber, 1837.  Intermediately  between  these  two  contributions,  Mahony  had 
been  pouring  out  his  rhymed  drolleries  abundantly  enough,  though  for  the 
most  part  in  a  very  fragmentaiy  way,  in  the  Miscellany,  to  the  number  of 
seventeen  or  eighteen.  Four  of  these  were  scattered,  like  the  sugar-plums 
from  an  exploded  bonbon -cracker,  in  different  parts  of  the  initial  number 
of  Bentley,  Teddy  0'Dr}'Scull,  the  Schoolmaster  of  ^Vatergrasshill  being 
ostensibly,  in  the  instance  of  three  of  them,  the  intermediary  for  their  trans- 
mission. Again,  in  the  J//^a7/a;n',  the  charge  of  plagiarism  was  demurely 
cast  in  the  teeth  of  dead  and  living  celebrities  by  this  most  incorrigible  of 
larking  scholiasts — Lover's  Molly  Carew,  "Och  hone!  Oh!  what  will  I 
do?'''  reappearing  as  "  Heu  !  lieu  !  me  tedet,  me  piget  o  !  "  while  Tom 
Hudson's  Barney  Brallaghan  came  forth  anew,  robed  in  the  classic  toga, 
under  the  title  of  "The  Sabine  Farmer's  Serenade,"  with  its  irresistible 
refrain  thus  whimsically  imitated  — 

"  Semel  tantum  die  eris  nostra  Lalage  ; 
Ne  recuses  sic,  dulcis  Julia  Callage." 

Before  the  close  of  his  connection  as  a  regular  contributor  with  BeJitley^s  Mis- 
cellany, Mahony  had  at  length  forsaken  the  haunts  to  which  he  had  latterly 
become  accustomed  in  London,  particularly  towards  the  small  hours  of  the 
morning,  and  had  wandered  back  through  Paris  into  Italy.  Thence,  being 
in  no  way  tethered,  either  by  home  lies  or  clerical  responsibilities,  he  went 
for  two  or  three  years  together  further  afield  than  he  had  hitherto  ever  dreamt 
of  venturing.  His  movements,  which  were  discursive,  carried  him  gradually 
and  in  a  wholly  unpremeditated  way  through  Hungar}-,  through  Asia 
Minor,  through  Greece  and  Egypt,  until  in  1 841  the  observant  nomad  re- 
turning to  the  South  of  France,  paused  a  while  there,  to  all  apjx'arance 
solely  for  rest  and  reflection.  Before  setting  out  on  these  peregrinations 
he  had,  in  1837,  passed  through  the  press  in  London,  with  notes  and  illus- 
trations, a  little  duodecimo,  entitled  "  La  Boullaye  le  Gouz  in  Ireland." 
By  the  time  his  w.anderings  eastward  were  completed  he  settled  down  into 
what  came  to  be  thenceforth  his  confirmed  character — that  of  a  bookish, 
schol a rIyyW ;/«■;/;•,  loitering  through  life  by  preference  in  continental  cities; 
with  quij:)s  and  cranks  galore  for  every  one  he  encountered  ;  gladdened  by 
the  chance,  whenever  he  was  lucky  enough  to  stumble  across  one,  of  fore- 
gathering with  an  old  friend   from  whom   he  had  long  drifted   apart,  and 


B  iograpJi  ical  In  trodiiction . 


XXV 


from  this  time  fon^'ard  until  the  very  end  giving  up  his  pen  exclusively 
to  the  rough  and  ready  labours  of  the  journalist.  Twice  in  this  capacity 
he  discharged  for  a  lengthened  period,  first  for  two  years  at  Rome,  and 
afterwards  for  eight  years  together  at  Paris — these  being  in  fact  the  last  years 
of  his  life — the  responsible  duties  of  a  Special  Correspondent. 

As  the  Roman  Correspondent  of  the  I)ai7\'  Alius  in  1846  and  1847,  he 
bad  the  privilege  of  describing  the  end  of  the  Pontificate  of  Gregor}-  the 
Sixteenth  and  the  commencement  of  the  wonderful  reign  of  Pope  Pius  the 
Ninth.  He  it  was  who,  shortly  after  the  accession  of  Giovanni  Mastai  Ferretti 
to  the  chair  of  the  Fishennan,  said  so  finely  in  his  regard,  in  the  words  of 
the  Gospel — J^m'i  homo  inissiis  a  Deo  ad  iiomen  erat  JoaJines.  In  carry- 
ing on  this  Roman  correspondence  from  day  to  day  Mahony  wrote  no 
longer  like  the  Prout  of  Fraser  in  a  conservative  sense  but,  on  the  contrar}', 
as  an  advanced  Liberal.  Immediately  his  communications  were  brought  to 
a  conclusion  they  were  collected  together  as  a  separate  and  substantive 
publication — his  title-page  running  thus  : — "Facts  and  Figiires  from  Italy,  by 
Don  Jeremy  Savonarola,  Benedictine  Monk.  Addressed  during  the  last  two  . 
Winters  to  Charles  Dickens,  Esq.,  being  an  Appendix  to  his  'Pictures.'  " 
His  introduction  to  the  work,  Avhich  affected  to  give  an  autobiographical 
account  of  himself  as  this  supposititious  monk  of  St.  Benedict,  and  of  his 
supposed  birthplace,  Sardinia,  amounted  in  reality  to  a  bitter  and  caustic 
satire,  the  veil  thrown  over  which  was  only  too  transparent.  John  Taureau, 
Tomaso  il  Moro,  Mac(chiav) Hello,  Archbishop  of  Vestrum,  Dandelione, 
Constematum  Hall,  and  the  like,  so  flagrantly  indicated  their  application, 
that  they  were  almost  tantamount  to  printing  the  real  names  they  signified 
in  italics.  Mahony"s  antipathy  to  O'Connell,  it  must  be  said  in  honest 
truth,  bore  about  it  no  more  distinct  characteristic  than  that  of  malignity. 
Nothing  less  than  malignity,  it  will  be  evident,  dictated  eveiy  syllable  of 
Don  Jeremy's  revolting  lyric  entitled  "The  Lay  of  Lazarus,"  or  hinted 
with  such  gusto  at  the  notion  of  the  rats  clearing  off  with  the  heart  of  the 
Liberator,  after  the  depositing  of  that  relic  overnight  in  the  ponderous 
catafalque.  Consistent  at  least  to  the  very  last,  in  his  ungrateful  deprecia- 
tion of  the  archchampion  and  victor  of  Catholic  Emancipation,  was  the 
sometime  usher  of  Clongowes,  later  on  Father  Prout,  later  on  yet,  Don 
Jeremy  Savonarola. 

A  wanderer  by  choice  for  years  upon  the  European  continent,  a  cosmo- 
politan ingrained,  Mahony,  it  has  been  A\ell  said  by  one  of  his  younger 
friends,  Mr.  Blanchard  Jerrold,  while  he  v>-as  at  home  in  many  places — on 
the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  the  Seine,  the  Amo,  and  the  Thames — was  most 
at  home  in  London.  Yet  for  all  that  he  settled  down  at  length  en  pcrnia- 
muce  in  dear,  delightful  Paris — "  Paris  pleine  d'or  et  de  misere."  Occa- 
sionally, even  then,  but  only  at  very  rare  inter\-als  indeed,  he  wrote  for 
the  magazines.  In  i860,  for  example,  he  contributed  to  the  Cornhill  his 
' '  Inaugural  Ode  to  the  Author  of  '  Vanity  Fair ' " — that  dear  friend  of  the  old 
Fj-ascr  days  whom  he  could  never  praise  too  highly.  Otherwise  Mahony's 
writing  during  the  last  eight  years  of  his  life  wa^  given  up  exclusively  to 
the  Globe  in  his  capacity  as  its  regular  Paris  Correspondent.  His  letters 
there  were  often  brief,  and  always  both  desultor}-  and  intermittent.  ^  His 
reader,  however,  sat  down  to  them  invariably  as  a  gounnand  might  sit 
down  to  a  dish  of  ripe  walnuts,  with  a  favourite  bottle  of  madeira  at  his 
elbov.-,  to  crack,  and  peel,  and  munch  them  with  a  relish — et  cum  grano 


XXVI 


Biographical  Introduction. 


sails.  His  residence  down  to  the  very  last  during  these  years  was  in  the 
entresol  of  one  of  those  huge  Parisian  hotels  in  which  he  so  much  dehghted. 
It  was  situated  in  the  Rue  des  MouHns,  a  thoroughfare  running  out  of 
the  Rue  Neuve  des  Petits  Champs,  or,  as  Thackeray  facetiously  preferred 
to  call  it  in  plain  English,  the  New  vStreet  of  the  Little  Fields.  There  the 
old  scholiast,  striking  at  last,  so  to  speak,  his  nomadic  tent,  settled  down 
permanently  in  bohemian  seclusion.  There,  at  odd  intervals,  according  to 
the  spur  of  the  moment,  he  jotted  down  those  alternately  whimsical  and 
recondite  commentaries  on  passing  events  which  went  to  the  making  up  of 
his  daily  newsletter.  During  the  tirst  half-dozen  of  the  "  'sixties,"  his  was 
a  familiar  figure  enough  to  some,  at  least,  of  the  habitues  of  the  streets  of 
Paris.  Wherever  encountered — whether  dropping  in  fitfully  at  Galignani's 
newsroom,  or  sipping  his  brandy-and-water  in  solitary  state  at  some 
favourite  cafe,  or  mooning,  half  dreamily,  half  observantly,  along  either 
a  gaslit  or  a  sunlit  boulevard — he  was  scarcely  to  be  passed  unnoticed  even 
by  a  stranger. 

As  characteristic  a  glimpse  of  Father  Prout  in  his  Parisian  days  as  any 
1  know  of  is  that  afforded  through  ths  loophole  of  the  third  chapter  of  the 
"  Final  Reliques,"  where  he  is  described  as  one  of  those  voluntary  exiles  to 
the  banks  of  the  Seine,  who  were  as  much  integral  parts  of  its  fair 
Lutetia  as  Murger,  Musset,  Privat  d'Anglemont,  ^Nlery,  the  great  Theo, 
Lespes,  Monselet,  Dr.  Veron,  and  a  host  of  other  strollers.  At  that  time, 
quoth  Mr.  Blanchard  Jerrold,  "  it  was  difficult  to  meet  Father  Prout.  He 
w'as  an  odd,  uncomfortable,  uncertain  man.  His  moods  changed  like 
April  skies.  Light  little  thoughts  were  busy  in  his  brain,  lively  and  frisk- 
ing as  '  troutlets  in  a  pool.'  He  was  impatient  of  interruption,  and 
shambled  forward  talking  in  an  undertone  to  himself,  with  now  and  then 
a  bubble  or  two  of  laughter,  or  one  short  sharp  laugh  almost  a  bark,  like 
that  of  the  marksman  when  the  arrow  quivers  in  the  bull's-eye.  He  would 
pass  you  with  a  nod  that  meant,  '  Hold  off — not  to-day  I '  You  had  been 
with  him  in  his  entresol  of  the  Rue  des  Moulins  over  night,  and  had  been 
dismissed  in  the  small  hours  when  he  had  had  gossiping  enough.  You 
had  been  charmed' with  the  range  of  his  scholarship,  the  ease  and  raciness 
of  his  wit,  by  the  masterly  skill  with  which  he  handled  his  literary  tools, 
and  the  shades  of  the  best  of  all  good  company  whom  he  could  summon 
before  you  in  anecdotes  which  almost  brought  their  breath  again  upon  the 
cheek.  To-day  he  is  gathered  up  closely  within  himself,  and  is  holding 
company  in  solitude.  Fie  was  very  impatient  if  any  injudicious  friend  or 
a  passing  acquaintance  (who  took  him  to  be  usually  as  accessible  as  any 
flaneur  on  the  macadam)  thrust  himself  forward  and  would  have  his  hand 
and  agree  with  him  that  it  was  a  fine  day,  but  would  possibly  rain  shortly. 
A  sharp  answer,  and  an  unceremonious  plunge  forward  without  bow  or 
good-day,  would  put  an  end  to  the  interruption.  Of  course  the  Father  wa- 
called  a  bear  l)y  ceremonious  shallow-pates,  who  could  not  see  there  wa  - 
something  extra  in  the  little  man  talking  to  himself  and  shuflling,  with  his 
hanfls  behind  him,  through  the  fines  fleitrs  and  p-andes  dames  of  the 
Italian  Boulevard.  There  were  boobies  of  his  cloth,  moreover,  who  called 
him  a  bore.  He  was  forgetful  at  times  of  the  bienseances,  it  seems,  which 
regulate  the  use  of  scissors  and  paste.  He  made  ill-timed  visits.  He  was 
unmindful  of  the  approach  of  '  the  hour  of  going  to  press.'  He  lingered 
over  the  paper  v.hcn  a  neighbour  was  waiting  for  it,  while  he  travelled  far 


Biographical  Litrodnction.  xxvii 

off  amid  the  vast  stores  of  his.  memon',  seeking  to  clothe  some  fact  or 
truth  of  to-day  in  the  splendour  of  a  classic  phrase  or  in  some  quaint  old 
Jesuit  dress.  When  his  brain  was  full-flowing  to  his  tongue,  he  would 
keep  you  under  a  tropical  sun  by  the  Luxor  obelisk,  and  tell  you  M"hen  he 
first  knew  Paris,  and  how  he  saw  the  scaffoldings  of  the  Rue  Royale,  and 
what  historic  pageants  he  had  watched  progressing  inwards  and  outwards 
by  tl*e  Tuileries.  Apposite  anecdote,  queer  figure,  sounding  phrase  cover-- 
ing  wretched  littleness,  lace  coats  over  muddy  pett}^  hearts  :  Monsieur  de 
Talleyrand,  Beranger's  de,  everj'body's  de,  Louis  Philippe  and  his  mess,  the 
poet-president  and  then  the  nephew  of  somebody  who  lives  to  rule  the 
roast — better  roast,  too,  than  Monsieur  Chose  got  by  contract  for  his  guests 
— ha!  ha  !  the  Father. laughed,  unmindful  of  the  heat — and  he  gossiped 
on.  Louis  Philippe  as  Ulysses  !  as  Leech  could  draw  him,  with  bottle- 
nose,  a  cotton  umbrella  under  his  aiTQ,  and  a  market  basket  in  his  hand, 
going  out  for  the  Sunday  dinner.  The  store  of  recollection  would  gape 
wide,  and  it  would  end  with  this,  'You've  nothing  to  do  for  an  hour,  have 
a  cigar.'"  Lightly  touched  in  though  this  silhouette  is,  it  is  surely  a 
speaking  likeness  of  the  man  whom,  as  Mgr.  Rogerson  reminds  me.  Vis- 
count Palmerston,  Lord  John  Russell,  and  others  of  the  Whig  party  used 
to  look  up  as  something  to  be  seen  in  Paris  and  encouraged  in  politics. 

Stooping  his  short  and  spare  but  thick-set  figure  as  he  walked,  wearing 
his  ill-brushed  hat  upon  the  extreme  back  of  his  head,  clothed  in  the 
slovenliest  way  in  a  semi-clerical  dress  of  the  shabbiest  character,  he  saun- 
tered b)',  with  his  right  arm  habitually  clasped  behind  him  in  his  left  hand 
— altogether  presenting  to  view  so  distinctly  the  appearance  of  a  member  of 
one  of  the  mendicant  orders,  that  upon  one  occasion,  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  an 
intimate  friend  of  his  found  it  impossible  to  resist  the  impulse  of  slipping  a 
sou  into  the  open  palm  of  his  right  hand,  with  the  apologetic  remark,  "You 
do  look  so  like  a  beggar  I  "  Apart,  however,  from  his  threadbare  garb  and 
shambling  gait,  there  were  personal  traits  of  character  about  him  which 
caught  the  attention  almost  at  a  glance,  and  piqued  the  curiosity  of  even 
the  least  observant  wayfarer.  The  "  roguish  Hibernian  mouth,"  noted 
in  his  regard  by  Mr.  Gruneisen,  and  the  grey  piercing  eyes,  that  looked 
up  at  you  so  keenly  over  his  spectacles,  won  your  interest  in  him  even 
•upon  a  first  introduction.  From  the  mocking  lip  soon  afterwards,  if  you 
fell  into  conversation  with  him,  came  the  "loud  snappish  laugh,"  with 
which,  as  Mr.  Blanchard  Jerrold  remarks,  the  Father  so  frequently  evi- 
denced his  appreciation  of  a  casual  witticism — uproarious  fits  of  merri- 
ment signalizing  at  other  moments  one  of  his  own  ironical  successes, 
outbursts  of  fun,  followed  during  his  later  years  by  the  racking  cough  witli 
which  he  was  too  often  then  tormented.  His  "  pipes,"  as  he  called  the 
bronchial  tubes,  he  mistakenly  regarded  as  the  only  weak  point  in  his  con- 
stitution, his  physical  strength  having  been  mainly  worn  down  at  last  by 
diabetes.  That  disease,  in  the  midst  of  a  complication  of  maladies  and 
infiiTnities,  first  indicated  its  undermining  influence  by  the  excessive 
depression  it  superinduced  in  his  naturally  hilarious  temperament.  Leading 
in  his  domestic  character  the  life  of  a  recluse,  he  had  only  too  obviously 
ample  opportunity  for  solitar}'  reflection.  Ordained  to  the  priesthood, 
consecrated  to  the  service  of  God  by  the  sacred  chrism,  not  only,  as  has  been 
seen,  had  he  ceased  for  years  to  exercise  his  sacerdotal  faculties,  but  he  had 
even  drifted  away  altogether,  as  already  remarked,  from  the  ordinar}-  prac- 


xxviii  Biographical  Introduction. 

tices  of  religion.  It  must  be  understood  at  once,  however,  and  ought,  in 
justice  to  his  memory,  to  be  here  stated  as  emphatically  as  words  can  in 
any  way  express  it,  that — contrary  to  a  belief  in  his  regard  still  unhappily 
very  prevalent — he  never  was  suspended  1  More  than  this,  no  shadov\- 
of  a  charge  was  ever  directed  against  him  of  having,  at  any  time,  either 
directly  or  indirectly,  denied  his  Faith.  He  was  never,  it  should  be  added, 
besides,  in  any  way  seriously  taken  to  task,  either  by  the  Hol>  See, 
or  by  his  immediate  ecclesiastical  superiors.  More  than  this,  the  fact  is 
upon  record,  that  the  Tablet,  having  once  incidentally  referred  to  him  as  "a 
suspended  priest,"  was  summarily  challenged  by  him  to  prove  its  assertion 
in  a  court  of  justice,  Mahony  laying  his  damages  at  ;i^2,ooo,  and  the  result 
being  that  an  apolog}'  was  instantly  offered  and  the  charge  unconditionally 
withdraT\-n. 

About  six  weeks  before  Mahony's  demise,  the  illness  from  which  he  had 
for  a  considerable  interA-al  been  more  or  less  constantly  suffering  assumed 
an  unmistakably  menacing  character.  He  did  then  what  he  had  done 
three  years  previously  when  attacked  by  severe  indisposition — he  sent 
round  to  St.  Roch,  his  parish  church,  for  the  Abbe  Rogerson.  Thence- 
forth, day  after  day,  the  latter  was  sedulously  in  attendance  upon  him  in 
his  apartment.  The  spiritual  adviser  of  the  lonely  wit  became  his  friend, 
his  guide,  his  consoler.  It  is  from  the  testimony  of  this  venerated  priest, 
better  kno\\"n  now  as  Monsignor  Rogerson,  that  the  facts  are  derived 
which  are  here,  for  the  first  time  in  print,  about  to  be  enumerated. 
Desirous  as  I  naturally  was,  immediately  upon  my  having  vmdertaken  to 
become  Mahony's  biographer,  to  state  only  in  his  regard  what  was  abso- 
lutely authentic,  but  more  particularly  with  reference  to  the  incidents 
attendant  upon  his  deathbed,  I  turned  instinctively,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  for  the  desired  information  to  Mgr.  Rogerson,  my  application  to 
whom,  it  is  but  the  simplest  justice  to  say,  was  responded  to  with  the 
most  instant  and  gracious  cofdiality.  \\Tiatever  materials  Mgr.  Rogerson 
had  at  his  command  that  were  in  any  way  likely  to  be  serviceable  to  me, 
he  placed  entirely  at  my  discretion.  The  characteristic  portrait,  for 
example,  which  forms  the  frontispiece  to  the  present  volume  he  has  enabled 
me  to  have  engraved  from  the  latest  photograph  of  Mahony — that  executed 
by  Weyler,  of  45  in  the  Rue  Lafitte  :  the  very  copy  having  been  generously 
confided  to  me  for  that  purpose  which  was  the  sitter's  last  souvenir  to  his 
deathbed  confessor.  Thanks  to  a  similar  kindness  again,  the  ver}^  auto- 
graph which  will  be  found  inscribed  underneath  that  likeness  has  been  fac- 
similed from  one  of  the  very  last  and  one  of  the  most  confidential  letters 
addressed  to  Mgr.  Rogerson  by  the  author  of  the  Reliques. 

During  the  closing  six  weeks  of  Mahony's  existence,  within  which  inter\-a], 
as  has  been  said,  he  was  brought  day  after  day  into  intimate  acquaintance 
with  Mgr.  Rogerson,  their  usual  hour  of  meeting  was  late  in  the  afternoon. 
Ordinarily  the  former's  diurnal  letter  to  the  Globe  had  l)y  that  time  been  com- 
pleted, Father  Prout's  special  correspondence  with  that  journal,  by  the  way, 
being  continued  up  to  within  a  fortnight  of  the  actual  date  of  his  decease. 
Upon  one  of  these  occasions,  however,  he  had  not  quite  finished  his  com- 
munication. Hence,  upon  the  Abbe  showing  himself  at  the  door,  which 
generally  stood  open,  ^lahony  called  out  with  soilie  asperity,  "  I'm  busy." 
•'  All  right,"  was  the  reply  "and  not  very  civil  to-day."  That  same  evening 
a  line  written  with  a  black-lead  pencil  on  his  card  was  sent  round  to  hi-s 


Biographical  IntrodiLction.  xxix 

confessor — zoologically  apologetic — thus  :  "If  you  iviU  poke  up  a  bear 
in  his  hours  of  digestion,  you  must  expect  him  to  growl. "  Hereupon, 
Mf^r.  Rogerson  remarks,  that,  although  Mahony  was  undoubtedly  by  nature 
testy  and\brupt,  he  evidently,  in  his  regard,  restrained  his  impetuosity,_  as 
a  rule  receiving  him  as  a  priest  who  had  a  duty  to  perfoi-m=  The  exception 
just  instanced  he  conceives  to  have  betokened  unmistakably  the  self-con- 
quest which  had  already  commenced. 

Another  slight  ebullition  of  temper  is  also  mentioned  as  having 
occurred  at  one  of  their  earlier  conferences.  Upon  the  occasion  refeiTcd 
to,  the  Abbe  had  thrown  out,  it  appears,  the  suggestion  that  :Mahony 
should  resort  for  purposes  of  especial  devotion  to  Notre  Dame  des 
Victoires,  urging  as  its  peculiar  privilege,  that  that  sanctuary  was  the 
seat  of  the  great  archconfratemity  for  the  conversion  of  sinners,  as 
•well  as  a  place  of  holy  pilgrimage  sought  by  people  of  all_  classes 
when  weighed  down  by  any  particular  anguish  or  solicitude,  adding  that 
at  such  times  it  was  visited,  among  others,  by  the  Empress  Eugenie. 
Upon  this  Mahony,  who  had  listened  sullenly  to  these  remarks,  kindling 
into  a  poetic  flame,  exclaimed  abruptly,  "  Don't  talk  to  me  oi  localizing 
devotion.  God  is  to  be  met  wnth  in  all  places.  The  canopy  of  heaven  is 
the  roof  of  his  temple  :  its  walls  are  not  oui  horizon,"  and  so  on.  Seeing 
clearly  that  he  was  in  for  a  strenuous  remonstrance,  and  realizing  at  once 
the  importance  of  asserting  his  own  position  in  his  regard,  Mgr.  Rogerson, 
interrupting  him,  mildly  observed,  "Excuse  me,  I  am  speaking  to  you 
under  the  impression  that  you  are  a  Catholic  wishful  to  resume  his  duty. 
Byron  has  given  us  his  rhapsodies  in  some  such  fashion  as  this.  Pray  let 
me  speak  as  a  priest  and  as  a  believer.  If  you  find  me  limited  and  illiberal 
seek  some  one  else."  Having  from  the  very  outset  been  under  the  appre- 
hension that  he  would  in  his  intercourse  with  ]\Iahony  have  to  encounter 
impatience  of  control  and  pride  of  intellect,  Mgr.  Rogerson  deemed  it 
advisable,  he  says,  at  once  to  claim  his  position  unhesitatingly,  as  here 
described.  In  so  doing  it  may  be  remarked  at  once  that  he  succeeded 
effectually.  Mahony  never  repealed  his  assault,  but  on  the  contraiy 
remained  to  the  last  docile  and  tractable.  Here,  for  example,  is  one  of 
the  little  epistolary' indications  he  gave  at  this  period  of  his  havingbecome 
thoroughly  amenable.  Dating  his  note  simply  "6  o'clock — evening,"  he 
writes  as  follows  with  reference  to  his  intended  general  confession  : — 

"  Dear  and  Reverend  Friend,  ,  .      . 

"  I  am  utterly  unfit  to  accomplish  the  desired  object  this  evening, 
having  felt  a  giddiness  of  head  all  the  afternoon,  and  am  now  compelled  to  seek  sleep. 
It  is  my  dearest  wish  to  make  a  beginning  of  this  merciful  work,  but  complete  prostration 
of  mind  renders  it  unattainable  just  now.  I  will  call  in  the  morning  and  arrange  for 
seeing  vou. 

"Do  pray  for  your 

"  penitent,  F.  Mahony." 

Mgr.  Rogerson  remembers  also  perfectly  well,  as  he  tells  me,  having  been 
influenced  in  his  determination  to  take  this  resolute  stand  with  INIahony, 
by  reason  of  his  having  been  some  time  previously  struck  by  the  remark 
of  an  Irish  dignitar}',  who,  when  conversing  with  another  bishop  on  the 
subject  of  Father  Prout,  said  in  the  Abbe's  hearing,  "I  should  fear  him 
even  dying  !  "  the  reply  of  the  prelate  thus  addressed  being,  "^I  should  covet 
no  greater  grace  than  to  see  poor  Frank  prepared  to  die  well. "   ^^  hen  listen- 


XXX  BiograpJiical  Introduction. 

ing  to  tliose  words  the  Abbe  Rogerson  little  expected,  as  he  says,  that  his 
was  to  be  the  privilege  and  his  the  responsibility.  The  event  actually 
came  to  pass,  however,  on  the  evening  of  Friday,  the  1 8th  of  May,  1866, 
at  Mahony's  apartment  in  the  entresol  of  No.  19  in  the  Rue  des  Moulins, 
and  it  did  so,  as  will  be  seen  at  once,  under  circumstances  of  great  conso- 
lation both  to  penitent  and  confessor. 

Their  conversations  for  half  a  dozen  weeks  together,  though  generally  brief 
and  business-like,  had  been  often  prolonged,  extending  at  those  times  into 
details  of  Father  Prout's  past  history  and  reminiscences.  Repeatedly 
during  the  course  of  them,  ejaculations  like  the  following  would  start  in 
anguish  from  his  lips  : — "But  I  ought  never  to  have  been  a  priest ! "  "I 
had  no  vocation  !  "  or  exclamations  of  a  similar  character.  As  already 
explained,  the  Jesuit  Fathers,  before  it  was  yet  too  late,  had  striven  in  vain 
to  impress  upon  him,  betimes,  the  same  conviction.  Their  proverbial 
powers  of  penetration  had,  as  ^Igr.  Rogerson  conjectures,  enabled  them 
even  then  to  detect  what  was  invisible  to  Mahony  himself,  namely,  a  prepon- 
derating excess  of  will  and  unusual  intellectual  endowments,  together  with 
a  ready  armoury  of  dangerous  wit  and  satire.  Notwithstanding  his  general 
recklessness  whentreating  of  Churchmen  and  Church  matters,  it  is  especially 
noticeable  in  his  regard  that  he  never  once  allowed  either  his  tongue  or  his 
pentogive  expression, with  reference  to  his  old  masters, to  any  of  those  denun- 
ciations of  the  great  Order,  so  much  in  accord  with  the  popular  prejudices. 

Mahony's  remorseful  sense  of  having  obtruded  himself  into  the  Church 
was,  it  may  here  be  remarked,  embodied  by  him  in  a  document  which  the 
Abbe  Rogerson  presented  on  his  behalf  to  Rome  when  first  he  sought  his  aid 
towards  reconciling  him  to  the  Church  of  God.  This  was  in  1863,  when, 
through  the  archbishop's  office  in  Paris,  permission  was  obtained  for  him 
"to  retire  for  ever,"  as  he  expressed  it,  -'from  the  sanctuary,"  and  to 
resort  thenceforth  to  lay  communion.  Simultaneously  he  received  a  dis- 
pensation enabling  him,  in  consideration  of  his  failing  eyesight  and  his 
advancing  age,  to  substitute  the  rosary  or  the  penitential  psalms  for  his 
daily  office  in  the  Iheviary.  Mahony,  it  is  worthy  of  note,  drew  up  this 
petition  himself  at  the  Aljbe  Rogerson's  suggestion,  both  its  completeness 
and  its  lalinity  being  so  remarkable  that  the  Roman  ecclesiastical  lawyer 
who  charged  himself  with  it  volunteered  to  the  Abbe  an  expression  at 
once  of  his  surj^rise  and  his  admiration.  Commenting  upon  this  same 
document  Mgr.  Rogerson  himself  remarks,  that  whilst  INIahony's  published 
specimens  of  clas.^ical  and  canine  Latin  are  no  doubt  the  wonder  and  amuse- 
ment of  scholars,  his  taking  up  his  pen,  as  he  did  in  this  instance,  after 
years  of  disuse,  and  in  a  couple  of  hours  throwing  off  an  ecclesiastical 
paper  full  of  technical  details  and  phraseology,  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
very  remarkable.  Already,  at  the  period  here  immediately  referred  to, 
that  is  three  years  prior  to  the  end,  the  Abbe  had  the  happiness  of  restor- 
ing his  penitent  to  practical  life  in  the  Church,  though,  greatly  to  the  inter- 
mediary's regret,  only  in  the  degree  of  lay  communion. 

To  two  aloneof  P'ather  I'rout's  friends  was  this  fact  communicated — one  of 
these  two  being  bound  to  him  by  tics  of  affection  from  their  early  youth,  when 
they  were  fellow-novices  at  Acheul,  meaning  the  good  Pere  Lefevre,  while 
the  other  was  the  late  saintly  liishop  Cjrant  of  Southwark,  who  had  never,  at 
any  time  evidenced  towards  Mahony  anything  like  estrangement.  It  was 
the  last-mentioned,  by  the  way,  who,  in  1848,  during  Don  Jeremy  Savona- 


BiograpJdcal  Introdtictioii,  xxxi 

rola's  residence  in  Rome  as  the  Daily  News'  Con-espondent,  "drew  him, 
in  his  own  sweet  winning  way,"  as  Mgr.  Rogerson  expresses  it,  once 
more  within  the  sanctuaiy,  Father  ]Mahony  tlien  for  the  last  time  venturing 
to  offer  up  the  Holy  sacrifice.  Many  years  afterwards  the  two  met  by 
accident  one  day  in  Paris,  at  the  comer  where  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  turns  into 
the  Rue  Castiglione.  The  Bishop,  stopping  abruptly  in  front  of  Father 
Prout,  claimed  him  upon  the  instant  as  an  old  friend,  calling  him  delight- 
edly by  his  real  name,  and  at  once  walked  off  with  him  arm-in-ann  with 
every  evidence  of  affectionate  cordiality.  Refemng  with  manifest  pleasure 
at  the  time  to  this  incident,  Mahony  in  1 863  requested  the  Abbe  Rogerson 
to  communicate  to  Bishop  Grant  and  to  the  Pere  Lefe\Te,  and  to  those  two 
intimates  alone,  the  fact  of  his  reconciliation. 

When,  towards  the  close  of  April,  and  yet  more  plainly  at  the  beginning 
of  May,  1 866,  Mahony's  last  malady  gave  unmistakable  evidence  of  its 
alanning  character,  the  Abbe  Rogerson,  finding  that  his  penitent  took  to  his 
bed  at  length  without  reluctance  (he  who  had  always  hitherto  striven  hard 
to  receive  his  friends  in  his  accustomed  comer),  directed  his  utmost  efforts 
to  the  completion  of  his  work  by  the  administration  of  the  last  sacraments. 
Immediately  prior  to  Father  Prout's  actually  taking  to  his  deathbed,  upon 
the  last  occasion,  that  is,  of  the  Abbe's  finding  him  yet  "up,"  he  was 
huddled  in  his  arm-chair,  scantily  clad,  and  eagerly  expectant  !  Mgi". 
Rogerson's  own  words  shall  be  here  given  : — "Thanking  me  for  my  patient 
and  persevering  attention  to  him  during  his  sickness,  he  asked  pardon  of 
me  and  of  the  whole  world  for  offences  committed  against  God  and  to 
the  prejudice  of  his  neighbour,  and  then  sinking  down  in  front  of  me,  with 
his  face  buried  in  his  two  hands  and  resting  them  on  my  knees,  he  received 
from  me  with  convulsive  sobs  the  words  of  absolution.  His  genial  Irish 
heart  was  full  to  overflowing  with  gratitude  to  God  as  a  fountain  released 
at  this  moment,  and  the  sunshine  of  his  early  goodness  had  dispelled  the 
darkness  of  his  after  life,  and  he  was  as  «  child  wearied  and  worn  out  after 
a  day's  wanderings,  when  it  had  been  lost  and  was  found,  when  it  had 
hungered  and  was  fed  again.  I  raised  him  up,  took  him  in  my  arms  and 
laid  him  on  his  bed  as  I  would  have  treated  such  a  little  wanderer  of  a 
child,  and  left  him  without  leavetaking  on  his  part,  for  his  heart  was  too 
full  for  words."  After  this  he  never  attempted  to  quit  his  bed,  or  desired 
to  see  any  one.  At  the  Abbe  Rogerson's  suggestion,  however,  he  consented 
to  see  his  fellow-novice  of  the  old  days,  the  Pere  Lefevre,  his  parting  with 
whom  is  described  as  wonderfully  touching.  The  old  college  intimate, 
addressing  him  by  his  once  familiar  name  as  a  novice,  ' '  Sylvestre, "  embraced 
him  with  an  effusion  of  tenderness,  and  gave  him  rendezvous  in  eternity  ! 

Two  days  afterwards  he  received  extreme  unction  at  the  hands  of  the 
Abbe  Rogerson.  The  latter  had  been  desirous,  it  is  true,  of  giving  this 
sacrament  to  him  earlier,  Mahony  himself,  however,  entreating  at  the 
time  to  be  allowed  to  give  the  signal  himself  when  he  should  feel  prepared 
for  its  administration.  Immediately  upon  his  confessor's  appearance  at  his 
bedside,  on  the  very  next  morning,  he  uttered  significantly  the  two  words 
"Holy  Oils,"  upon  hearing  which  the  Abbe  Rogerson  lost  no  time  in 
summoning  his  assistants,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  Abbe  Chartrain  gave 
the  solemn  anointing.  The  last  sacred  rites  having  been  completed,  the 
end  was  seen  to  be  rapidly  approaching.  No  articulate  syllable  from  that 
moment  passed  his  lips,  and  at  about  half-past  nine  o'clock  on  the  evening 


^ 


xxxii  Biographical  hitrodicctioii. 

of  Friday,  the  i8th  ^lay,  1866,  he  tranquilly  expired  in  the  presence  of  his 
sister,  Mrs.  Woodlock,  and  of  his  friend  and  confessor,  the  Abbe  Rogerson. 
"  We  could  detect,"  says  the  latter,  "the  approach  of  the  final  moment, 
and  continued  through  the  beautiful  prayers  for  the  agonizing,  to  appeal  to 
God,  earnestly  for  him  up  to  the  very  instant  when  his  breathing  ceased. 
He  could  not,  in  fact,"  continues  this  s}'mpathetic  eyewitness,  "have  sur- 
rounded himself  with  more  accessories  of  grace  had  he  been  permitted  to 
sketch  out  his  mode  of  quitting  life  ;  and  I  feel  that  our  ever-merciful 
Saviour,  His  compassionate  ^lother,  and  the  whole  Court  of  Heaven  must 
have  welcomed  this  one  other  'lost  and  found,'  wounded  it  may  be  and 
ha\'ing  many  sores,  and  requiring  the  process  of  renewal  in  Purgatorial 
deteniion,  but — saved.  No  other  thought  or  feeling  comes  back  to  me  to 
interrupt  as  a  cloud  the  clear  remembrance  that  I  hold  of  this  event," 
observes  Mgr.  Rogerson  in  conclusion,  "and  it  troubles  me  to  hear  un- 
catholic  reflections  pronounced  by  those  whose  faith  and  the  experiences 
of  life,  and  much  more  the  'charity  that  hopeth  all  things,'  ought  to 
check,  admonish,  and  deter,  'And  thinkest  thou,  O  man,  that  judgest 
them  that  do  such  things,  that  thou  shalt  escape  the  judgment  of  God? 
or  despisest  thou  the  riches  of  his  goodness,  and  patience,  and  long-suffer- 
ing?' Rom,  ii.  3,  4."  With  reason  did  the  then  British  consul  at  Barce- 
lona, James  Hannay,  write  of  his  old  friend,  on  the  morrow  of  Mahony's 
death,  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  : — "  Probably  nc  man  with  whom  he  was 
brought  into  contact,  friendly  or  otherwise,  but  will  hear  with  satisfaction 
that  a  sister  of  his  blood  and  a  priest  of  his  faith  cheered  the  deathbed  of 
the  lonely  old  wit  and  scholar,  and  helped  to  make  his  last  hours  pass 
tranquilly  away. "  More  tranquilly,  as  will  be  evident  now  upon  unques- 
tionable authority,  he  could  not  well  have  passed  the  awful  boundary  line 
that  divides  time  from  eternity. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  magnanimity  of  the  venerable  Archbishop 
McHale,  who  still  survives,  at  the  patriarchal  age  of  a  nonogenarian,  that 
years  ago  he  checked  one  whom  he  overheard  reprehending  Mahony  by 
observing  that,  after  all,  the  Irishman  who  wrote  Father  Prout's  papers  was 
an  honour  to  his  country'.  Dying  abroad  though  he  did,  his  remains  had 
fitting  sepulture  at  once  in  his  native  land,  at  his  birthplace,  Cork,  on 
the  banks  of  the  river  Lee,  uncfer  the  shadow  of  the  spire  and  within  sound 
of  those  Bells  of  Shandon  he  had  sung  of  so  lovingly  and  harmoniously  in 
his  lyrical  masterpiece.  Immediately  upon  its  arrival  at  Cork,  upon  the 
evening  of  Sunday,  the  27th  May,  1866,  the  coffin  containing  his  remains 
was  disembarked  from  the  London  steamer  and  conveyed  to  St.  Patrick's 
Church,  King  Street,  where  it  was  laid  in  front  of  the  sanctuary  until 
the  following  morning.  Shortly  after  daybreak,  masses  were  said  there 
for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  deceased,  at  each  mass  large  numbers 
attending.  At  eight  o'clock,  Bishop  Delaney,  preceded  by  a  long  procession 
of  priests,  entered  from  the  sacristy  and  sang  the  Miserere.  Another  pro- 
cession being  formed  upon  the  completion  of  the  solemn  requiem  and  the 
aspergings,  the  remains  were  borne  to  the  bier  which  stood  in  readiness  at 
the  gates,  and  conducted,  with  twenty  priests  in  attendance,  to  the  vaults  at 
Shandon,  in  which,  among  the  dust  of  many  generations  of  Frank  Mahony's 
kith  and  kin,  they  have  ever  since  reposed. 

By  a  curious  irony  of  fate — remembering  how  Mahony  during  his  last 
illness  had  remarke<J  to  the  Abbe  Rogerson,  with  especial  reference  to  his 


Biographical  Introduction.  xxxiii 

ihreatened  action  against  the  Tablet  for  defamation  of  character,  "  I  have 
^poken  of  the  CiiUen\z?X\ov\.  of  Ireland,  and  that  amounts  to  heresy  with 
-ome  people," — the  very  number  of  the  Cork  ^x^wzw^r  containing  the 
account  of  the  funeral  ceremony  at  Shandon,  gave  on  the  opposite  page 
the  announcement  from  the  Freeman'' s  Jotirnal  that  "His  Holiness  the 
Pope,  appreciating  the  eminent  services  rendered  to  the  Catholic  Church 
Ijv  the  most  reverend  Dr.  Cullen,  has  elevated  his  grace  to  the  dignity 
)f  Cardinal."  According  to  a  statement,  put  forth  with  the  utmost  gravity 
f  manner,  by  the  late  Mr.  Gruneisen,  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  of  the 
25th  of  May,  1866,  a  Cardinal's  hat  might  have  been  had  by  Mahony 
himself,  "but  for  that  which  was  imputed  to  him  as  his  one  great  fault — 
conviviality.  At  Rome,"  continued  the  writer,  "  so  strongly  impressed  were 
tlie  leading  men  of  the  Church  with  his  abilities,  that  it  was  intimated  to 
him  that  he  might  hope  to  rise  high  in  honours  ecclesiastical  if  he  would 
devote  his  exclusive  services  to  the  Pope.  He  assented  :  a  period  of  pro- 
l>ation  was  assigned  during  which  it  was  ascertained  that  his  notions  of 
temperance  were  too  liberal  for  the  Church."  Mr.  Gruneisen  further 
asserts  in  plain  words,  "  Prout  told  me  the  temptation  he  had  at  Rome," 
tliat  is  to  this  advancement — the  archwag  not  impossibly  meaning 
all  the  while  to  the  conviviality.  The  Pall  MalPs  Correspondent,  though 
frankly  acknowledging,  "  I  treated  his  statement  at  the  time  as  a  joke," 
adds,  "but,  from  one  of  the  highest  Church  authorities  in  Paris  I  sub- 
sequently had  full  confirmation  of  the  fact  that  the  Cardinal's  hat  was 
actually  offered  to  him  in  prospect,  and  that  he  lost  the  distinction  as 
I  have  intimated."  On  submitting  these  wild  rumours  and  wilder  asser- 
tions to  the  dispassionate  judgment  of  Mgr.  Rogerson,  I  have  the  latter's 
assurance  that  Prout  at  any  rate  never  once  spoke  to  him  of  a  Cardinal's 
hat,  and  that  for  his  own  part  he  cannot  consider  the  idea  in  any  way  to 
have  accorded  with  Mahony's  then  character. 

Besides  the  original  edition  of  "The  Reliques,"  published  in  two 
volumes  by  James  Fraser  in  1836,  another  edition  in  one  volume  was 
issued  from  the  press  in  i860,  otherwise,  during  Mahony's  lifetime,  as  an 
important  integral  part  of  Bohn's  Illustrated  Libraiy.  Supplementary  to 
these  two  editions,  an  exceedingly  miscellaneous  collection  of  his  writings 
as  a  journalist  and  of  memorabilia  in  his  regard  contributed  by  various 
hands,  those  of  several  of  his  friends,  acquaintances,  and  contemporaries, 
appeared  in  1875,  under  the  editorship  of  Mr.  Blanchard  Jerrold,  with  the 
title  of  "Final  Reliques  of  Father  Prout."  The  materials  compacted 
together  in  that  volume,  however,  interesting  and  valuable  though 
some  of  them  undoubtedly  were,  it  must  be  admitted  were  so  loosely  put 
together  and  so  confusedly  arranged,  that  their  general  effect  was  a  source 
rather  of  disappointment  than  of  satisfaction.  The  present  edition  of  the 
collected  "Works  of  Father  Prout"  is  the  third  that  has  yet  made  its 
appearance.  Several  estimates  of  the  genius  and  learning,  the  wit  and 
wisdom,  of  Francis  Mahony  have  been  put  forth  at  different  times  in  the 
periodicals  both  of  France  and  of  England,  three  of  which  may  be  regarded 
as  of  sufficient  intrinsic  excellence  to  entitle  them  to  be  here  enumerated. 
Two  of  these  were  from  the  skilled  and  scholarly  hand  of  no  less  sound  a 
critic  than  the  late  James  Hannay,  who  first  of  all  in  the  Universal  Rroiew 
for  February,  i860,  weighed  in  the  balance  and  did  not  find  wanting  the 
humoristic  erudition  of   Father  Prout  ;    and  who   upon   the    morrow  of 

C 


I 


xxxiv  BiograpJiical  Introduction. 

Mahony's  decease,  six  years  afterwards,  with  brilliant  effect  held  up  in 
contrast  to  each  other  in  the  A'orth  British  Revirui  for  September,  1866, 
those  three  typical  humorists  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  Pea- 
cock, Aytoun,  and  Prout.  It  was  this  last-mentioned  paper  beyond  all 
question  which  in  the  following  year  suggested  to  a  French  critic  the 
article  entitled  "  Trois  Ecrivains  (humorist)  Anglais,"  meaning  Hood, 
Prout,  and  Thackeray,  which  in  1867  appeared  in  the  J\ezntc  Britan- 
niqiu.  The  Works  themselves,  however,  which  are  here  brought 
together,  and  arranged  in  chronological  sequence,  will,  without  any 
extraneous  aid  whatever  in  that  direction,  most  surely  guide  the  saga- 
cious reader  to  their  just  appraisement.  They  are  as  exhilarating  as  the 
first  runnings  of  a  well-filled  wine-press,  the  gi-apes  heaped  together 
in  which  have  been  ripened  by  laughing  suns  and  grown  in  classic 
vineyards. 


THE 


LATE 

^.  ^.  of  ^i^atergrassSill,  in  tf)c  OTountg  cf  atcrifc,  Irclanti,  i 

COLLECTED    AND   ARRANGED   BY 

OLIVER   YORKE. 


PREAMBLE. 


[The  Preface  to  the  First  Edition  of  the  "  Relique?,"  published  in  1836,  in  two 
volumes  post  octavo,  by  James  Fraser,  of  215,  Regent  Street,  vas  thus  entitled.  The 
work  was  embellished  with  eighteen  daintily-pencilled  illustrations  by  Alfred  Croquis, 
afterwards  famous  under  his  real  name  as  Daniel  Maclise  the  Royal  Academician.] 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  our  Author  should  be  no  longer  in  the 
land  of  the  living,  to  furnish  a  general  Preamble,  explanatory  of  the  scope 
and  tendency  of  his  multifarious  writings.  By  us,  on  whom,  with  the  con- 
tents of  his  coffer,  hath  devolved  the  guardianship  of  his  glory,  such  de- 
ficiency is  keenly  felt ;  having  leanit  from  Epictetus  that  every  sublunary 
thing  has  two  handles  {vav  vpayi^a  Suas  ex«'  ^a^as),  and  from  experience 
that  mankind  are  prone  to  take  hold  of  the  wrong  one.  King  Ptolemy,  to 
whom  we  owe  the  first  translation  of  the  Bible  into  a  then  vulgar  tongue 
(and  consequently  a  long  array  of  "centenary  celebrations  "),  proclaimed, 
in  the  pithy  inscription  placed  by  his  order  over  the  entrance  of  the  Alex- 
andrian Library',  that  books  were  a  sort  of  physic.  The  analogy  is  just, 
and  pursuing  it,  we  would  remark  that,  like  other  patent  medicines,  they 
should  invariably  be  accompanied  with  "directions  for  use."    Such  irpoKe- 


xxxvi  Preamble. 

yofiiva.  would  we  in  the  present  case  be  delighted  ourselves  to  supply,  but 
that  we  have  profitably  studied  the  fable  of  La  Fontaine  entitled  ^'  VAnc 
qui portail  les  Reliqitcs''^  (liv.  v.  fab.  14). 

Nevertheless, it  is  not  our  intention,  in  giving  utterance  to  such  a  very  natu- 
ral regret,  to  insinuate  that  the  present  production  of  the  lamented  writer  is 
unfinished,  abortive,  or  incomplete  :  on  the  contrary,  our  interest  prompts 
us  to  pronounce  it  complete,  as  far  as  it  goes.  It  requires,  in  point  of  fact, 
no  extrinsic  matter  ;  and  Prout,  as  an  author,  will  be  found  what  he  was 
*  in  the  flesh — ^^  ioius  teres  atqiie  rotundiisy  Still,  a  suitable  introduction, 
furnished  by  a  kindred  genius,  would  in  our  idea  be  ornamental.  The 
Pantheon  of  republican  Rome,  perfect  in  its  simplicity,  yet  derived  a  sup- 
plementary grace  from  the  portico  superadded  by  Agrippa. 

All  that  remains  for  us  to  say  under  the  circumstances  is  to  deprecate 
the  evil  constructions  which  clumsy  "journeymen"  may  hereafter  put  on 
the  book.     In  our  opinion  it  can  bear  none. 

The  readers  of  Fraser's  Magazine  will  recognize  these  twelve  papers  as 
having  been  originally  put  forth,  under  our  auspices,  in  one  year's  consecu- 
tive numbers  oi  Regina — i.e.,  from  the  1st  of  April,  1834,  to  the  recurrence 
of  that  significant  date  iji  1835.  For  reprinting  them  in  their  present 
shape  we  might  fairly  allege  the  urgent  ^''request  of  friends,''''  had  not  the 
epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot  made  that  formula  too  ridiculous  ;  we  will,  there- 
fore content  ourselves  by  stating  that  we  merely  seek  to  justify,  by  this 
undertaking,  the  confidential  trust  reposed  in  us  by  the  parish  of  Water- 
grasshill. 

Much  meditating  on  the  materials  that  fill  "the  chest,"  and  daily  more 
impressed  with  the  merit  of  our  author,  we  thought  it  a  pity  that  its  wis- 
dom should  be  suffered  to  evaporate  in  magazine  squibs.  What  impression 
could,  in  sooth,  be  made  on  the  public  mind  by  such  desultory  explosions? 
Never  on  the  dense  mass  of  readers  can  isolated  random  shots  produce  the 
effect  of  a  regular y^w  de peloton.  For  this  reason  we  have  arranged  in  one 
volume  his  files  of  mental  musketry,  to  secure  a  simultaneous  discharge. 
The  hint,  perhaps,  of  right  belongs  to  the  ingenious  Fieschi. 

We  have  been  careful  to  preserve  the  order  of  succession  in  which  these 
essays  first  met  the  public  eye,  i:)refixing  to  each  such  introductory  com- 
ments as  from  lime  tci  time  we  felt  disposed  to  indulge  in,  with  reference 
to  synchronous  occurrences— for,  on  looking  back,  we  find  we  have  been 
on  some  occasions  historical,  on  others  prophetical,  and  not  unfrequcntly 
rhapsodical.  This  latter  charge  we  fully  anticipate,  candidly  confessing 
that  we  have  l)een  led  into  the  practice  by  the  advice  and  example  of 
Pliny  llic  Younger  :   "  Ipsa  varietate,'"  are  his  words,  ''  lentamus  efficere  td 


Pi'eamble. 


xxxvii 


alia  aliis,  qiuvdam  fortasse  offiuibiis  pla^eant."  This  would  appear  to  con- 
stitute the  whole  theory  of  miscellaneous  \^Titing  :  nor  ought  it  to  be  for- 
gotten by  the  admirers  of  more  strictly  methodical  disquisition,  that — 

"L'ennui  naguit  un  jour  de  rubiformite." 

Caterers  for  public  taste,  we  apprehend,  should  act  on  gastronomic 
principles;  according  to  which  ^^ toujoiirs  Front'''  would  be  far  less 
acceptable  than  ^'toujoiifs  perdn'x :'''  hence  the  necessity  for  a  few  Iwrs 
d^cetevres. 

We  have  hitherto  had  considerable  difficulty  in  establishing,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  refractor}-  critics,  the  authenticity  of  one  simple  fact  ;  viz.,  that 
of  our  author's  death,  and  the  consequently  posthumous  nature  of  these 
publications.  People  absurdly  persist  in  holding  him  in  the  light  of  a 
living  writer  :  hence  a  sad  waste  of  wholesome  advice,  which,  if  judiciously 
expended  on  some  reclaimable  smner,  would,  no  doubt,  fi-uctify  in  due 
season.  In  his  case  'tis  a  dead  loss — Prout  is  a  literan.-  mummy  !  Folks 
should  look  to  this  :  Lazarus  will  not  come  forth  to  listen  to  their  stric- 
tures ;  neither,  should  they  happen  to  be  in  a  complimentary  mood,  will 
Samuel  arise  at  the  witcherj^  of  commendation. 

Objects  of  art  and  virtii  lose  considerably  by  not  being  viewed  in  their 
proper  light ;  and  the  common  noonday  effulgence  is  not  the  fittest  for  the 
right  contemplation  of  certain  capi  d' opera.  Canova,  we  know,  preferred 
the  midnight  taper.  Let  therefore,  ^^  7it  f maris  reliqiiiis'''  [F/iird.  lib.  i. 
fab.  22),  the  dim  penumbra  of  a  sepulchral  lamp  shed  its  solemn  influence 
over  the  page  of  Prout,  and  alone  preside  at  its  perusal. 

Posthumous  authorship,  we  must  say,  possesses  infinite  advantages  ;  and 
nothing  so  tmly  senses  a  book  as  the  writer's  removal  by  death  or  trans- 
portation from  the  sphere  or  hemisphere  of  his  readers.  The  ' '  Memoirs 
of  Captain  Rock  "  were  rendered  doubly  interesting  by  being  dated  from 
Sidney  Cove.  Byron  wrote  from  Venice  with  increased  effect.  Nor  can 
we  at  all  sympathize  with  the  exiled  Ovid's  plaintive  utterance,  "  Sine  me, 
liber,  ibis  in  u7-bem."  His  absence  from  town,  he  must  have  known,  was  a 
I'ight  good  thing  for  his  "publisher  under  the  pillars."  But  though  distance 
be  useful,  death  is  unquestionably  better.  Far  off,  an  author  is  respected ; 
dead,  he  is  beloved.     Extitictiis,  amabitnr, 

[This  theory  is  incidentally  dwelt  on  by  Prout  himself  in  one  of  his 
many  papers  published  by  us,  though  not  comprised  within  the  present 
limited  collection.  In  recounting  the  Roman  adventures  of  his  fellow- 
townsman  Barr}-,  he  takes  the  occasion  to  contrast  the  neglect  which  his 
friend  experienced  during  life  with  the  rank  now  assigned  him  in  pictorial 
celebrity. 


xxxvili  Preamble. 

Ainsi  les  maitres  de  la  Ijtc 

Partout  exhalent  leur  chagrins  ; 
Vivans,  la  haine  les  dechire, 
£t  ces  dieux,  que  la  terre  admire, 

Ont  peu  compte  de  jours  serens. 

Longtemps  la  gloire  fugitive 

Semble  tromper  leur  noble  orgeuil ; 
La  gloire  enfin  pour  eux  arrive, 
Et  toujours  sa  palme  tardive 

Croit  plus  belle  prfes  d"un  cerceuil. 

FoNTAN'ES,  Ode  a  C /uttcaubHaJuL 

I've  known  the  youth  with  genius  cursed  - 
I've  mark'd  his  eye  hope-lit  at  first ; 
Then  seen  his  heart  indignant  burst. 

To  find  his  efforts  scom'd. 
Soft  on  his  pensive  hour  I  stole. 
And  saw  him  draw,  with  anguish'd  soul, 
GIor}''s  immortal  muster-roil. 

His  name  should  have  adom'd. 

His  fate  had  been,  with  anxious  mind, 
To  chase  the  phantom  Fame — to  find 
His  grasp  eluded  !     Calm,  resign'd. 

He  knows  his  doom — he  dies. 
Tkefi  comes  Renown,  tJien  Fame  appears, 
Glory  proclaims  the  Coffin  hers  I 
Aye  greenest  over  sepulchres 

Palm-tree  and  laurel  rise. 

Prout,  Notti  Rotnaiu  7iel  Palazzo  Vatica)io.\ 

We  recollect  to  have  been  forcibly  struck  with  a  practical  application  of 
this  doctrine  to  commercial  enterprise  when  we  last  visited  Paris.  The 
2nd  of  November,  being  "All  Souls'-day,"*  had  dra^^•n  a  concourse  of 
melancholy  people  to  Ph-c  la  [Chaise,  ourselves  with  the  rest ;  on  which 
occasion  our  eye  was  arrested,  in  one  of  the  most  sequestered  walks  of  that 
romantic  necropolis,  by  the  faint  glimmering  of  a  delicious  little  lamp — a 
glow-worm  of  bronze — keeping  silent  and  sentimental  vigil  under  a  modest 
urn  of  black  marble,  inscribed  thus  : — 

Ci-GiT  FoLRMER  CPicrre  Victor), 

Inventeur  brevete  des  lampcs  dites  sans  fin, 

Brulant  une  centime  d'huile  a  I'heure. 

IL    FUT    BON    PERE,    BON    FILS,    BON    EPOf.V. 
.«;A    VEUVE    INCONSOLABLE 

Continue  son  commerce,  Rue  aux  Ours,  No.  19. 

Elle  fait  des  envois  dans  les  dcpartemens. 

N.B.  ne  pas  confondre  avec  la  boutique  en  face  s.v.p. 

R.  I.  r. 


Preamble.  xxxix 

We  had  been  thinking  of  purchasing  an  article  of  the  kind  ;  so,  on  our 
return,  we  made  it  a  point  to  pass  the  Rue  aiix  Oiu's,  and  give  our  custom 
to  the  mournful  Artemisia.  On  entering  the  shop,  a  rubicund  tradesman 
accosted  us  ;  but  we  intimated  our  w'ish  to  transact  business  with  ' '  the 
widow,"  "La  veuve  inconsolable?  "  '^  Eh,  pardieic!  c'est  mot!  ]e  suis, 
moi,  Pien'e  Fournier,  inventeur,  &c. :  la  veuve  ii'est  qiCun  syf?ibole,  un 
mythe.''''  We  admired  his  ingenuity,  and  bought  his  lamp  ;  by  the  mild 
ray  of  which  patent  contrivance  we  have  profitably  pursued  our  editorial 
labours. 

OLIVER  YORKE. 

Regent  Street,  Feb.  29,  1836. 

■*  In  the  first  edition  of  the  "  Reliques"  the  date  of  All  Souls'  was  given  very  literally 
indeed  by  a  "  clerical "  error  as  the  ist  of  November, 


xxxviii  Preamble. 

Ainsi  les  maitres  de  la  lyre 

Partout  exhalent  leur  chagrins  ; 
Vivans,  la  haine  les  dechire, 
£t  ces  dicux,  que  la  terre  admire, 

Ont  peu  compte  de  jours  serens. 

Longtemps  b  gloire  fugitive 

Semble  tromper  leur  noble  orgeuil ; 
La  gloire  enfin  pour  eux  arrive, 
Et  toujours  sa  palme  tardive 

Croit  plus  belle  prfes  d'un  cerceuil. 

FoNTANES,  Ode  a  Chatcaiibriaiid. 

I've  known  the  youth  with  genius  cursed- - 
I've  mark'd  his  eye  hope-lit  at  first ; 
Then  seen  his  heart  indignant  burst. 

To  find  his  efforts  scorn'd. 
Soft  on  his  pensive  hour  I  stole, 
And  saw  him  draw,  with  anguish'd  soul, 
Glor>''s  immortal  muster-roil. 

His  name  should  have  adorn 'd. 

His  fate  had  been,  with  anxious  mind. 
To  chase  the  phantom  Fame — to  find 
His  grasp  eluded  !     Calm,  resign'd. 

He  knows  his  doom — he  dies. 
Then  comes  Renown,  then  Fame  appears, 
Glory  proclaims  tJte  Coffin  hers  ! 
Aye  greenest  over  sepulchres 

Palm-tree  and  laurel  rise. 

Pkol'T,  Kotti  Romanc  ncl  Palazzo  Vatkano.\ 

We  recollect  to  have  been  forcibly  struck  with  a  practical  application  of 
this  doctrine  to  commercial  enterprise  when  we  last  visited  Paris.  The 
2nd  of  November,  being  "All  Souls'-day,"*  had  drawn  a  concourse  of 
melancholy  people  to  Pird  la  [Chaise,  ourselves  with  the  rest ;  on  which 
occasion  our  eye  was  arrested,  in  one  of  the  most  sequestered  walks  of  that 
romantic  necropolis,  by  the  faint  glimmering  of  a  delicious  little  lamp — a 
glow-worm  of  bronze — keeping  silent  and  sentimental  vigil  under  a  modest 
urn  of  black  marble,  inscribed  thus  : — 

Ci-ciT  FouRNiER  (Pierre  Victor), 

Inventeur  brevete  des  lampcs  dites  sans  fin, 

Brulant  une  centime  d'huile  a  I'heure. 

IL    FLT    BON    I'ERE,    BON    FILS,    BON    ErOf.V. 
SA    VEUVE    INCONSOLABLE 

Continue  son  commerce.  Rue  aux  Ours,  No.  19. 

Kile  fait  des  envois  dans  les  dcpartemens. 

N.B.  ne  pas  confondrc  avcc  la  boutique  en  face  s.v.r. 

R.  I.  P. 


Preamble.  xxxix 

We  had  been  thinking  of  purchasing  an  article  of  the  kind  ;  so,  on  our 
return,  we  made  it  a  point  to  pass  the  Rue  aiix  Ours,  and  give  our  custom 
to  the  mournful  Artemisia.  On  entering  the  shop,  a  rubicund  tradesman 
accosted  us  ;  but  we  intimated  our  wish  to  transact  business  with  ' '  the 
widow,"  "La  veuve  inconsolable?  "  ^''  Eh,  parduic!  c'est  fuoil  \q.  suis, 
moi,  Pierre  Fournier,  inventeur,  &:c.:  la  veuve  ii'est  qiCuii  symbole,  tin 
rnythe.''''  We  admired  his  ingenuity,  and  bought  his  lamp;  by  the  mild 
ray  of  which  patent  contrivance  we  have  profitably  pursued  our  editorial 
labours, 

OLIVER  YORKE. 

Regent  Street,  Feb.  29,  1836. 

*  In  the  first  edition  of  the  "  Reliques  "  the  date  of  All  Souls'  was  given  very  literally 
indeed  by  a  "  clerical "  error  as  the  ist  of  November, 


-.,« 


"Ai  Covent  Garden  a  sacred  drama,  on  the  story  of  Jephtha, 
conveying  solemn  impressions,  is  prohibited  as  a  PROFANATION  of 
the  period  of  fasting  and  mortification  !  There  is  no  doubt  ivhere  the 
odium  should  fix— 071  the  Lord  Chamberlain  or  on  the  Bishop  of 
London.  Let  some  iiitelligent  Member  of  Parliament  bring  the  ques- 
tion before  the  House  of  Commons." 

Times,  Feb.  20  and  21,  1834. 


THE  WORKS  OF  FATHER  PROUT. 


THE    RELIOUES. 


I. 

J-atljcr  |1rout's  i^palagn  for  "^mi. 

HIS   DEATH,    OBSEQUIES,    AND   AN    ELEGY. 

{Fraser's  Magazine,  April,  1834.) 

— 0 — 

[Mahony's  first  contribution  to  Fraser  appeared  in  the  same  number  in  which  Carlyle 
completed  the  second  of  the  three  books  of  his  "  Sartor  Resartus."  The  now  well-known 
Magazine,  which  had  already  won  to  itself  a  high  degree  of  popularity,  had  but  just  then 
rounded  the  fourth  year  of  its  existence.  Its  salient  feature  from  its  commencement  had 
been,  as  it  long  continued  to  be,  the  publication  in  each  monthly  instalment  of  one  in  a 
singularly  varied  Gallery  of  Literary  Characters.  These  were  doubly  sketched,  and 
with  about  an  equally  startling  vividness,  by  the  pseudonymous  pencil  of  Alfred  Croquis, 
a  young  artist  afterwards  world-famous  in  his  own  name  as  Daniel  Maclise,  R.A.,  and, 
upon  a  confronting  leaf,  by  the  pen  of  an  anonymous  writer,  who  was  in  reality  no  less 
caustic  and  scholarly  a  wit  than  Dr.  William  Rlaginn,  then  the  responsible  editor  of 
Regina.  No.  47  in  that  Gallery  portrayed  thus,  in  walking  costume,  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  readers  of  Ffaser,  the  well-buttoned-up  form  and  vinous  countenance  of 
Iheodore  Hook,  author  of  "  Sayings  and  Doings."  A  couple  of  years  afterwards,  when 
"The  Reliques "  were  collected  together  for  independent  publication,  Maclise's  facile 
pencil  adorned  this  opening  chapter  with  two  embellishments,  one  of  them  forming  the 
frontispiece  to  the  first  volume,  being  his  wicked  limning,  under  embowering  nets,  of 
Mahony  seated  vis-a-vis  with  his  a/ter  ego  or  eidolon  Father  Prout,  each  busily  engaged, 
fork  in  hand,  discussing  his — ahem  ! — "  Apology  for  Lent  !  "  relays  of  dishes  being 
brought  in  processionally  to  the  already' well-laden  board  ;  while  the  other,  the  companion 
vignette,  appended  to  this  opening  instalment  of  the  "  Reliques,"  delineated,  under  the 
two  significant  words  "  Pace  Implora,"  the  reverend  Father's  solemn  interment.] 


"  Cependant,  suivant  la  chronique, 
Le  Careme,  depuis  un  mois, 
Sur  tout  I'univers  Catholique 
Etendait  ses  sevferes  lois." — Cresset. 


There  has  been  this  season  in  town  a  sad  outcry  against  Lent.  For  the  first 
week  the  metropolis  was  in  a  complete  uproar  at  the  suppression  of  the 
oratorio ;  and  no  act  of  authority  since  the  fatal  ordonnances  of  Charles  X. 
bid  fairer  to  revolutionize  a  capital  than  the  message  sent  from  Bishop  Blom- 
field  to  Manager  Bunn.  That  storm  has  happily  blown  over.  The  Cockneys, 
having  fretted  their  idle  hour,  and  vented  their  impotent  ire  through   their 

C  * 


"safety-valve,"  the  press,  have  quietly  relapsed  into  their  wonted  attitude  of 
indifference  and  resumed  their  customary  calm.  The  clamour  of  the  day  is 
now  passed  and  gone,  and  tlie  dramatic  "  murder  of  Jephtha  "  is  forgotten.  In 
truth,  after  all,  there  was  something  due  to  local  remmiscences ;  and  when  the 
present  tenants  of  the  "  Garden"  recollect  that  in  by -gone  days  these  "  deep 
solitudes  and  awful  cells  "  were  the  abode  of  fasting  and  austerity,  they  will 
not  grudge  the  once-hallowed  premises  to  commemorate  in  sober  stillness  the 
Wednesdays  and  Fridays  of  Lent.  But  let'  that  rest.  An  infringement  on 
the  freedom  of  theatricals,  though  in  itself  a  grievance,  will  not,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, be  the  immediate  cause  of  a  convulsion  in  these  realms ;  and  it  will 
probably  require  some  more  palpable  deprivation  to  arouse  the  sleeping 
energies  of  John  Bull,  and  to  awake  his  dormant  anger. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  Romans,  that  while  they 
crouched  in  prostrate  servility  to  each  imperial  monster  that  swayed  their  desti- 
nies in  succession,  they  never  would  allow  their  amusements  to  be  invaded,  nor 
tolerate  a  cessation  of  the  sports  of  the  amphitheatre  ;  so  that  even  the  despot, 
while  he  riveted  their  chains,  would  pause  and  shudder  at  the  well-known 
ferocious  cry  of  "  Paiieiii  et  Circoises  /"  Now,  food  and  the  drama  stand 
relatively  to  each  other  in  very  different  degrees  of  importance  in  England  ^ 
and  while  provisions  are  plentiful,  other  matters  have  but  a  minor  influence  on 
the  popular  sensibilities.  The  time  may  come,  when,  by  the  bungling  measures 
of  a  \Vhig  administration,  brought  to  their  full  maturity  of  mischief  by  the 
'  studied  neglect  of  the  agricultural  and  shipping  interests,  the  general  disorgan- 
ization of  the  state-machinery  at  home,  and  the  natural  results  of  their  inter- 
meddling abroad, — a  dearth  of  the  primary  articles  of  domestic  consumption 
may  bring  to  the  Englishman's  fireside  the  broad  conviction  of  a  misrule  and 
mismanagement  too  long  and  too  sluggishly  endured.  It  may  then  be  too 
late  to  apply  remedial  measures  with  efficacy  ;  and  the  only  resource  left,  may 
be,  hke  Caleb  Balderstone  at  Wolf's  Crag,  to  proclaim  "a  general  fast." 
When  that  emergency  shall  arise,  the  quaint  and  original,  nay,  sometimes 
luminous  and  philosophic,  views  of  Father  Prout  on  the  fast  of  Lent,  may 
afford  much  matter  for  speculation  to  the  British  public  ;  or,  as  Childe  Harold 
says, 

"  Much  that  may  give  us  pause,  if  pondered  fittingly." 

Before  we  bring  forward  Father  Prout's  lucubrations  on  this  grave  subject, 
it  maybe  allowable,  by  way  of  preliminary  observation,  to  remark,  that,  as 
far  as  Lent  is  concerned,  as  well  indeed  as  in  all  other  matters,  "  they  manage 
these  things  differently  abroad."  In  foreign  countries  a  carni%^al  is  the 
appropriate  prelude  to  abstemiousness  ;  and  folks  get  such  a  surfeit  of 
amusement  during  the  satumalian  days  wliich  precede  its  observance,  that  they 
find  a  grateful  repose  in  the  sedate  quietude  that  ensues.  The  custom  is  a 
point  of  national  taste,  which  I  leave  to  its  own  merits ;  but  whoever  has 
resided  on  tlie  Continent  must  have  obser\'ed  that  all  this  bacchanalian  riot 
suddenly  terminates  on  Shrove  Tuesday ;  the  fun  and  frolic  expire  with  the 
"boeuf-gras;  "  and  the  shouts  of  the  revellers,  so  boisterous  and  incessant 
during  the  preceding  week,  on  Ash  Wednesday  are  heard  no  more.  A  singu- 
lar ceremony  in  all  the  churches— that  of  sprinkling  over  the  congregation 
on  that  Wcdnescia/  the  pulverized  embers  of  the  boughs  of  an  evergreen 
(meant,  I  suppose,  as  an  emblem  and  record  of  mans  mortality)— appears  to 
have  the  instantaneous  effect  of  turning  their  tlioughts  into  a  different  channel  : 
tile  busy  hum  subsides  at  once;  and  learned  commentators  have  found,  in  the 
fourth  book  of  Virgil's  Georgics,  a  prophetic  allusion  to  tiiis  magic  operation  : 

"  Hi  motus  animorum  atque  hsec  certamina  t.anta 
Pulveris  exii;ui  jactu  compres.sa  quiescunt." 

Tlic  non-consumption  of  butchers'  meat,  and  the  substitution  of  fish  diet, 


is  also  a  prorninent  feature  in  the  continental  form  of  obser\-ing  Lent  ;  and  on 
this  topic  Father  Prout  has  been  remarkably  discursive,  as  will  be  seen  on 
perusal  of  the  following  pages.  To  explain  ho'w  I  became  the  depositary  of 
the  reverend  man's  notions,  and  why  he  did  not  publish  them  in  his  lifetime 
(for,  alas !  he  is  no  more— peace  be  to  his  ashes  ! )  is  a  duty  which  I  owe  the 
reader,  and  from  which  I  am  far  from  shrinking.  I  admit  that  some  apology 
is  required  for  conveying  the  lucid  and  clarified  ideas  of  a  great  and  good 
divine  through  the  opaque  and  profane  medium  that  is  now  employed  to  bring 
them  under  the  public  eye  ;    I  account  for  it  accordingly.  ^ 

I  am  a  younger  son.  I  belong  to  an  ancient,  but  poor  and  dilapidated 
house,  of  which  the  patrimonial  estate  was  barely  enough  for  mv  elder ;  hence, 
as  my  share  resembled  what  is  scientifically  called  an  evanescent  quantity,  I 
was  directed  to  apply  to  that  noble  refuge  of  unprovided  genius— the  bar ! 
To  the  bar,  with  a  heavy  heart  and  aching  head,  I  devoted  year  after  vear,' 
and  was  about  to  become  a  tolerable  proficient  in  the  black  'letter,  when  aii 
epistle  from  Ireland  reached  me  in  Fumival's  Inn,  and  altered  my  prospects  ma- 
terially. This  despatch  was  from  an  old  Roman  Catholic  aunt  v.hom  I  had  in 
that  countn,',  and  whose  house  I  had  been  sent  to,  when  a  child,  on  the  specu- 
lation that  this  visit  to  my  venerable  relative,  who,  to  her  other  good  qualities, 
added  that  of  being  a  resolute  spinster,  might  determine  her,  as  she  was  both 
rich  and  capricious,  to  make  me  her  inheritor.  The  letter  urged  my  imme- 
diate presence  in  the  dying  chamber  of  the  Lady  Cresswell ;  and  as  no  t'ime  was 
to  be  lost,  I  contrived  to  reach  in  two  days  the'lonely  and  desolate  mansion  on 
\\'atergra55hill,  in  the  vicinity  of  Cork.  As  I  entered  the  apartment,  by  the 
scanty  light  of  the  lamp  that  gUmmered  dimlv,  I  recognized,  with  some 
difficulty,  the  emaciated  form  of  my  gaunt  and  withered  kinswoman,  over 
whose  features,  originally  thin  and  wan,  the  pallid  hue  of  approaching  death 
cast  additional  ghastUness.  By  the  bedside  stood  the  rueful  and  unearthly 
form  of  Father  Prout ;  and,  while  the  son  of  chiaroscuro  in  which  his  figure 
appeared,  half  shrouded,  half  revealed,  served  to  impress  me  with  a  proper 
awe  for  his  solemn  functions,  the  scene  itself,  and  the  probable  consequences 
to  me  of  this  last  interview  with  my  aunt,  affected  me  exceedinglv.  I  involun- 
tarily knelt ;  and  while  I  felt  my  hands  grasped  by  the  long,  cold,  and  bony 
fingers  of  the  dying,  my  whole  frame  thrilled ;  and  her  words,  the  last  she 
spoke  in  this  world,  fell  on  my  ears  with  all  the  effect  of  a  potent  witchery, 
never  to  be  forgotten!  "Frank,"  said  the  Lady  Cresswell,  "  my  lands  arid 
perishable  riches  I  have  bequeathed  to  you,  though  you  hold  not  the  creed  of 
which  this  is  a  minister,  and  I  die  a  worthless  but  steadfast  votary  :  only 
promise  me  and  this  holy  man  that,  in  memory  of  one  to  whom  vour 'welfare 
is  dear,  you  will  keep  the  fast  of  Lent  while  yo'u  live  ;  and,  as  I  ca'nnot  control 
your  inward  belief,  be  at  least  in  this  respect  a  Roman  Catholic :  I  ask  no 
more."  How  could  I  have  refused  so  simple  an  injunction?  and  what  junior 
member  of  the  bar  would  not  hold  a  good  rental  by  so  easv  a  tenure  ?  In 
brief,  I  was  pledged  in  that  solemn  hour  to  Father  Prout,  and  to  my  kind  and 
simple-hearted  aunt,  whose  grave  is  in  Rathcooney,  and  whose'  soul  is  in 
heaven. 

During  my  short  stay  at  Watergrasshill  (a  wild  and  romantic  district,  of 
which  ever}'  brake  and  fell,  ever\'  bog  and  quagmire,  is  well  known  to  Crofton 
Croker— for  it  is  the  x&ry  Arcadia  of  his  fictions),  I  formed  an  intimacv  with  this 
Father  Andrew  Prout,  the  pastor  of  the  upland,  and  a  man  celebrated  in  the 
south  of  Ireland.  He  was  one  of  that  race  of  priests  now  unfortunately 
extinct,  or  very  neariy  so,  like  the  old  breed  of  wolf-dogs,  in  the  island  :  'l 
allude  to  those  of  his  order  who  were  educated  abroad,  before  the  French 
revolution,  and  had  imbibed,  from  associating  with  the  polished  and  high-bom 
clergy  of  the  old  Galilean  chturch,  a  loftier  range  of  thought,  and  a  superior 
deUcacy  of  sentiment.     Hence,  in  his  e\idence  before  the  House  of  Lords, 


The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


"the  glorious  Dan"  has  not  concealed  the  grudge  he  feels  towards  those 
clergymen,  educated  on  the  Continent,  who,  having  witnessed  tlie  doings 
of  the  sansculottes  in  P'rance,  have  no  fancy  to  a  rehearsal  of  th(i  same  in 
Ireland.  Of  this  class  was  Prout.  P.P.  of  Watergrasshill ;  but  his  real 
value  was  very  faintly  appreciated  by  his  rude  flock  :  he  was  not  understood  by 
his  contemporaries  ;  his  thoughts  were  not  their  thoughts,  neither  could  he 
commune  with  kindred  souls  on  that  wild  mountain.  Of  his  genealogy 
nothing  was  ever  known  with  certainty  ;  but  in  this  he  resembled  Melchizedek: 
like  ICugene  Aram,  he  had  excited  the  most  intense  interest  in  the  highest 
quarters,  still  did  he  studiously  court  retirement.  He  was  thought  by  some 
to  be  deep  in  alchemy,  like  Friar  Bacon  ;  but  the  gangers  never  even  suspected 
him  of  distilling  "potheen."  He  was  known  to  have  brought  from  France  a 
spirit  of  the  most  chivalrous  gallantry  ;  still,  like  Pension  retired  from  the 
court  of  Louis  XIV.,  he  shunned  the  attractions  of  the  sex,  for  the  sake  of 
his  pastoral  charge  :  but  in  the  rigour  of  his  abstinence,  and  the  fmgality  of 
his  diet,  he  resembled  no  one,  and  none  kept  Lent  so  strictly. 

Of  his  gallantry  one  anecdote  will  be  sufficient.  The  fashionable  Mrs.  P , 

with  two  female  companions,  travelling  through  the  county  of  Cork,  stopped 
for  Divine  service  at  the  chapel  of  Watergrasshill  (which  is  on  the  high  road 
on  the  Dublin  line),  and  entered  its  rude  gate  while  Prout  was  addressing  his 
congregation.  His  quick  eye  soon  detected  his  fair  visitants  standing  behind 
the  motley  crowd,  by  whom  they  were  totally  unnoticed,  so  intent  were  all 
on  the  discourse;  when,  interrupting  the  thread  of  his  homily,  to  procure 
suitable  accommodation  for  the  strangers,  "Boys!"  cried  the  old  man,  "why 
don't  ye  give  three  chairs  for  the  ladies?"  "Three  cheers  for  the  ladies  !  " 
re-echoed  at  once  the  parish  clerk.  It  was  what  might  be  termed  a  clerical, 
but  certainly  a  very  natural,  error;  and  so  acceptable  a  proposal  was  suitably 
responded  to  by  the  frieze-coated  multitude,  whose  triple  shout  shook  the  very 
cobwebs  on  the  roof  of  the  chapel  ! — after  which  slight  incident,  service  was 
quietly  resumed. 

He  was  extremely  fond  of  angling;  a  recreation  which,  while  it  ministered 
to  his  necessary  relaxation  from  the  toils  of  the  mission,  enabled  him  to 
observe  cheaply  the  fish  diet  imperative  on  fast  days.  For  this  he  had  estab- 
lished his  residence  at  the  mountain-source  of  a  considerable  brook,  which, 
after  winding  through  the  parish,  joins  the  Blackwater  at  Fermoy ;  and  on  its 
banks  would  be  found,  armed  with  his  rod,  and  wrapped  in  his  strange 
cassock,  fit  to  personate  the  river-god  or  presiding  genius  of  the  stream.  [Old 
Izaak  VValton  would  have  liked  the  man  exceedingly.] 

His  modest  parlour  would  not  ill  become  the  hut  of  one  of  the  fishermen  of 
Galilee.  A  huge  net  in  festoons  curtained  his  casement ;  a  salmon-spear, 
sundry  rods,  and  fishing  tackle,  hung  round  the  walls  and  over  his  bookcase, 
which  latter  object  was  to  him  the  perennial  spring  of  refined  enjoyment. 
Still  he  would  sigh  for  the  vast  libraries  of  France,  and  her  well-appointed 
scientific  halls,  wiiere  he  had  spent  his  youth,  in  converse  with  the  first 
literary  characters  and  most  learned  divines ;  and  once  he  directed  my 
attention  to  what  appeared  to  be  a  row  of  folio  volumes  at  the  bottom  of  his 
collection,  but  which  I  found  on  trial  to  be  so  many  large  stone-flags,  with 
parchment  Ijacks,  bearing  the  appropriate  title  of  Cornelh  \  L.M'IDK 
Opera  qiuT  extattt  omnia  :  by  which  semblance  of  that  old  Jesuit's  commen- 
taries he  consoled  himself  for  the  absence  of  the  original. 

His  classic  acquirements  were  considerable,  as  will  appear  by  his  essay  on 
Lent;  and  while  they  made  him  a  most  instructive  companion,  his  unobtrusive 
merit  left  the  most  favourable  impression.  The  general  character  of  a 
churchman  is  singularly  improved  by  the  tributary  accomplishments  of  the 
scholar,  and  literature  is  like  a  pure  grain  of  Araby's  incense  in  the  golden 
censer  of  religion.     His  taste  for  the  fine  arts  was  more  genuine  than  might 


Fathei'  P rout's  Apology  for  Lent. 


be  conjectured  from  the  scanty  specimens  that  adorned  liis  apartment, 
though  perfectly  in  keeping  with  his  favourite  sport ;  for  there  hung  over  the 
mantelpiece  a  print  of  Raphael's  cartoon  the  "  Miraculous  Draught  ;"  here, 
"Tobith  rescued  by  an  Angel  from  the  Fish;"  and  there,  "  St.  Anthony 
preaching  to  the  Fishes." 

With  this  learned  Theban  I  held  a  long  and  serious  converse  on  the  nature 
of  the  antiquated  observance  I  had  pledged  myself  to  keep  up  ;  and  oft  have 
we  discussed  the  matter  at  his  frugal  table,  aiding  our  conferences  with  a  plate 
of  water-cresses  and  a  red  herring.  I  have  taken  copious  notes  of  Father 
Front's  leading  topics ;  and  while  I  can  vouch  them  as  his  genuine  arguments, 
I  will  not  be  answerable  for  the  style ;  which  may  possibly  be  my  own,  and 
probably,  like  the  subject,  exceedingly  jejune. 

I  publish  them  in  pure  self-defence.  I  have  been  so  often  called  on  to 
explain  my  peculiarities  relative  to  Lent,  that  I  must  resort  to  the  press  for  a 
riddance  of  my  persecutors.  The  spring,  which  exhilarates  all  nature,  is  to 
me  but  the  herald  of  tribulation  ;  for  it  is  accompanied  in  the  Lent  season 
with  a  recurrence  of  a  host  of  annoyances  consequent  on  the  tenure  by 
which  I  hold  my  aunt's  property,  I  have  at  last  resolved  to  state  my  case 
openly;  and  I  trust  that,  takmg  up  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles,  I  may,  by 
exposing,  end  them.  Xo  blessing  comes  unalloyed  here  below  :  there  is  ever 
a  cankerworm  in  the  rose  ;  a  dactyl  is  sure  to  be  mixed  up  with  a  spondee  in 
the  poetry  of  life ;  and,  as  Homer  sings,  there  stand  two  urns,  or  crocks, 
beside  the  throne  of  Jove,  from  which  he  doles  out  alternate  good  and  bad 
gifts  to  men,  but  mostly  both  together. 

I  grant,  that  to  repine  at  one's  share  of  the  common  allotment  would 
indicate  bad  taste,  and  afford  evidence  of  ill-humour :  but  still  a  passing 
insight  mto  my  case  will  prove  it  one  of  peculiar  hardship.  As  regularly  as 
dinner  is  announced,  so  surely  do  I  know  that  my  hour  is  come  to  be  stared 
at  as  a  disciple  of  Pythagoras,  or  scrutinized  as  a  follower  of  the  Venetian 
Cornaro.  I  am  "a  lion"  at  "feeding  time."  To  tempt  me  from  my 
allegiance  by  the  proffer  of  a  turkey's  wing,  to  eulogize  the  sirloin,  or  dwell  on 
the //(:7;//^c'f(/ of  the  haunch,  are  among  my  friends'  (?)  practical  sources  of 
merriment.  To  reason  with  them  at  such  unpropitious  moments,  and  against 
such  fearful  odds,  would  be  a  hopeless  experiment ;  and  I  have  learned  from 
Horace  and  Father  Prout,  that  there  are  certain  viollia  teitipora,  fandi,  which 
should  always  be  attended  to  :  in  such  cases  I  chew  the  cud  of  my  resentment, 
and  eke  out  my  repast  on  salt-fish  in  silence.  None  will  be  disposed  to 
question  my  claim  to  the  merit  of  fortitude.  In  vain  have  I  been  summoned 
by  the  prettiest  lisp  to  partake  of  the  most  tempting  delicacies.  I  have 
declined  each  lady-hostess's  hospitable  offer,  as  if,  to  speak  in  classic  parlance, 
Canidia  tractavit  dapes ;  or,  to  use  the  vernacular  phraseology  of  Moore, 
as  if 

"  The  trail  of  the  serpent  was  over  them  all." 
Hence,  at  the  club  I  am  looked  on  as  a  sort  of  rara  avis ;  or,  to  speaJc 
more  appropriately,  as  an  odd  fish.  Some  have  spread  a  report  that  I  have  a 
large  share  in  the  Hungerford  Market  ;  others,  that  I  am  a  Saint  Simonian. 
A  fellow  of  the  Zoological  Society  has  ascertained,  forsooth,  from  certain 
maxillary  appearances,  that  I  am  decidedly  of  the  class  of  i^^vocpayoL,  with  a 
mixture  of  the  herbivorous.  When  the  truth  is  known,  as  it  will  be  on  the 
publication  of  this  paper,  it  will  be  seen  that  I  am  no  phenomenon  what- 
ever. 

My  witty  cousin,  Harriet  R.,  will  no  longer  consider  me  a  fit  subject  for  the 
exercise  of  her  ingenuity,  nor  present  me  a  copy  of  Gray's  Poems,  with  the 
page  turned  down  at  "An  Elegy  on  a  Cat  drowned  m  a  Tub  of  Gold 
Fishes."  She  will  perhaps,  when  asked  to  sing,  select  some  other  aria 
besides  that  eternal  barcarolle, 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


"  O  pescator  dell'  onda, 
Vieni  pescar  in  quii 
Colla  bella  tua  barca  !  " 

and  if  I  happen   to    approach   the  loo-table,    she   will  not    think   it  again 
necessary  to  caution  the  old  dowagers  to  take  care  of  their  Jis/i. 

Re-^c>io7is  a  nos  moutons.  When  last  I  supped  with  leather  Prout,  on  the 
eve  of  my  departure  from  Watergrasshill  (and  I  can  only  compare  my  reminis- 
cences of  that  classic  banquet  to  Xenophon's  account  of  the  symposion  of 
Plato),  "  Young  man,"  said  he,  "  you  had  a  good  aunt  in  the  Lady  Cresswell; 
and  if  you  thought  as  we  do,  that  the  orisons  of  kindred  and  friends  can  benefit 
the  dead,  you  should  pray  for  her  as  long  as  you  live.  But  you  belong  to  a 
different  creed — different,  I  mean,  as  to  this  particular  point ;  for,  as  a  whole, 
your  Church  of  England  bears  a  close  resemblance  to  ours  of  Rome.  The 
"daughter  will  ever  inherit  the  leading  features  of  the  mother;  and  though  in 
your  eyes  the  fresh  and  unwithered  fascinations  of  the  new  faith  may  fling  into 
the  shade  the  more  matronly  graces  of  the  old,  somewhat  on  the  principle 
of  Horace,  O  inatre  piilc/iKi  filia  piilchrior!  still  has  our  ancient  worship 
many  and  potent  charms.  I  could  proudly  dwell  on  the  historic  recollections 
that  emblazon  her  escutcheon,  the  pomp  and  pageantry  of  her  gorgeous 
liturgy " 

"  Pardon  me,  reverend  friend,"  I  interposed,  lest  he  should  diverge,  as  was 
his  habit,  into  some  long-winded  argument,  foreign  to  the  topic  on  which  I 
sought  to  be  informed,  —  "I  do  not  undervalue  the  matronly  graces  of  your 
venerable  church  ;  but  (pointing  to  the  remnant  of  what  had  been  a  red  her- 
ring) let  us  talk  of  her  fish-diet  and  fast-days." 

"Ay,  you  are  right  there,  child,"  resumed  Prout  ;  "  I  perceive  where  my 
panegyric  must  end — 

*  Desinit  in  piscem  mulier  formosa  superne  I ' 

You  will  get  a  famous  badgering  in  town  when  you  are  found  out  to  have  for- 
sworn the  flesh-pots  ;  and  Lent  will  be  a  sad  season  for  you  among  the 
Egyptians.  But  you  need  not  be  unprovided  with  plausible  reasons  for  your 
abstinence,  besides  the  sterling  considerations  of  the  rental.  Notwithstanding 
that  it  has  been  said  or  sung  by  your  Lord  Byron,  that 

'  Man  IS  a  carnivorous  production. 
And  cannot  live  (as  woodcocks  do)  on  suction  ; ' 

Still  that  noble  poet  (I  speak  from  the  record  of  his  life  and  habits  furnished  us 
by  Moore)  habitually  eschewed  animal  food,  detested  gross  feeders,  and  in  his 
own  case  lived  most  frugally,  I  might  even  .say  ascetically ;  and  this  abstemi- 
ousness he  practised  from  a  refinement  of  choice,  for  he  had  registered  no  vow- 
to  heaven,  or  to  a  maiden  aunt.  The  observance  will  no  doubt  proven  trial  of 
fortitude ;  but  for  your  part  at  the  festive  board,  were  you  so  criminal  as  to 
transgress,  would  not  the  spectre  of  the  Lady  Cresswell,  like  the  ghost  of 
Banquo,  rise  to  rebuke  you  ? 

"And  besides,  these  days  of  fasting  are  of  the  most  remote  antiquity;  they 
are  referred  to  .-is  being  in  vogue  at  the  first  general  council  that  legislated  for 
Christendom  at  Nice,  in  Bilhynia,  A.n.  325;  and  the  subsequent  assembly  of 
bishops  at  Laodicea  ratified  the  institution  A.n.  364.  Its  discipline  is  fully  de- 
veloped in  the  classic  pages  of  the  accomplished  Tertullian,  in  the  second  century 
[Tract,  de  jcjiniiis).  I  .say  no  more.  These  are  what  Edmund  Burke  would 
call  'grave  and  reverend  authorities,'  and,  in  the  silence  of  Holy  Writ,  may 
go  as  historic  evidence  of  primitive  Christianity ;  but  if  you  press  me,  I  can  no 
more  show  cause  under  the  proper  hand  and  seal  of  an  apostle  for  keeping  the 
fast  on  these  days,  than  I  can  fur  keeping  the  Sabbath  on  Sunday. 

"I  do  not  choose  to  notice  that  sort  of  criticism,  in  its  dotage,  that  would 
trace  the  custom  to  the  well-known  avocation  of  the  early  disciples  :  though 


that  they  were  fishermen  is  most  true,  and  that  even  after  they  had  been  raised 
to  the  aposiohc  dignity,  they  relapsed  occasionally  into  the  innocent  parsuit  of 
their  primeval  caliing,  still  haunted  the  shores  of  the  accustomed  lake,  and 
loved  to  disturb  with  their  nets  the  crystal  surface  of  Gennesareth. 

' '  Lent  is  an  institution  which  should  have  been  long  since  rescued  from  the 
cobwebs  of  theolog}-,  and  restored  to  the  domain  of  the  pohtical  economist, 
for  there  is  no  prospect  of  arguing  the  matter  in  a  fair  spirit  among  conflicting 
di\ines  ;  and,  of  all  things,  polemics  are  the  most  stale  and  unprofitable. 
Loaves  and  fishes  have,  in  all  ages  of  the  church,  had  charms  for  us  of  the  cloth  ; 
yet  how  few  would  confine  their  frugal  bill  of  fare  to  mere  loaves  and  fishes  ! 
So  far  Lent  may  be  considered  a  stumbling-block.  But  here  I  dismiss  theolog\- : 
nor  shall  I  further  trespass  on  your  patience  by  angling  for  arguments  in  the 
muddy  stream  of  church  histor}-,  as  it  rolls  its  troubled  waters  over  the  middle 
ages. 

"Your  black-letter  acquirements.  I  doubt  not,  are  considerable;  but  have 
you  adverted  to  a  clause  in  Queen  Elizabeth  s  enactment  for  the  improvement 
of  the  shipping  interests  in  the  year  1564?  Ycu  will,  I  believe,  find  it  to  run 
thus  : 

"  A?2fio  ~)0  Eliz.  cap.  v.  sect.  11  : — 'And  for  encrease  of  provision  of  fishe 
by  the  more  usual  eating  thereof,  bee  it  further  enacted,  that  from  the  feast  of 
St.  Mighell  th'archangell,  ano.  Dni.  fiftene  hundreth  threescore  foure,  ever}^ 
Wednesdaye  in  ever)'  weeke  through  the  whole  yere  shal  be  hereafter  observed 
and  kepte  as  the  Saturdays  in  every  weeke  be  or  ought  to  be ;  and  that  no 
person  shal  eat  any  fleshe  no  more  than  on  the  common  Saturdays. 

"  12. — '  And  bee  it  further  enacted  by  th'auctontee  aforesaid,  for  the  commo- 
ditie  and  benifit  of  this  realme,  as  well  to  growe  the  navie  as  in  sparing  and 
encrease  of  fleshe  victual,  that  from  and  after  the  feast  of  Pentecost  next 
coming,  yt  shall  not  be  lawful  for  any  p'son  to  eat  any  fleshe  upon  any  days 
now  usually  observ-ed  as  fish-days ;  and  that  any  p'son  offending  herein  shal 
forfeite  three  powndes  for  ever}-  tyme." 

"  I  do  not  attach  so  much  importance  to  the  act  of  her  royal  successor, 
James  L,  who  in  1619  issued  a  proclaiiiation,  reminding  his  English  subjects  of 
the  obligation  of  keeping  Lent;  because  his  Majesty's  object  is  clearly  ascer- 
tained to  have  been  to  encourage  the  traffic  of  his  countn,"men  the  Scotch,  who 
had  just  then  embarked  largely  in  the  herring  trade,  and  for  whom  the  thrifty 
Stuart  was  anxious  to  secure  a  monopoly  in  the  British  markets. 

"  But  when,  in  1627,  I  find  the  chivalrous  Charles  L,  your  mart}Ted  king, 
sending  forth  from  the  banqueting-room  of  Whitehall  his  royal  decree  to  the 
same  effect,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  trace  his  motives.  It  is  known  that  Archbishop 
Laud's  advice  went  to  the  effect  of  reinstating  many  customs  of  Cathohcity; 
but,  from  a  more  diligent  consideration  of  the  subject,  I  am  more  inclined  to 
think  that  the  king  wished  rather,  by  this  display  of  austere  practices,  to  soothe 
and  conciliate  the  Puritanical  portion  of  his  subjects,  whose  religious  notions 
A\  ere  supposed  (I  know  not  how  justly)  to  have  a  tendency  to  self-denial  and 
the  mortification  of  the  flesh.  Certain  it  is.  that  the  Cai\-inists  and  Roimd- 
heads  were  greater  favourites  at  Billingsgate  than  the  high-church  party  ;  from 
which  we  may  conclude  that  they  consumed  more  fish.  A  fact  corroborated  by 
the  contemporary  testimony  of  Samuel  Butler,  who  says  that,  when  the  great 
struggle  commenced, 

'  Each  fisherwoman  locked  her  fish  up, 
,  And  trudged  abroad  to  crj-,  Xo  Bishop  I ' 

"  I  will  only  remark,  in  furtherance  of  my  own  views,  that  the  king's  beef- 
eaters, and  the  gormandizing  Cavaliers  of  that  period,  could  never  stand  in 
fair  fight  against  the  austere  and  fasting  Cromwellians. 

"  It  is  a  vulgar  error  of  vour  countr^•men  to  connect  ralour  with  roast  beef, 


8  Tlic  Works  of  Father  Front. 


or  courage  with  plum-pudcing.  Taere  exists  no  such  association;  and  I 
wonder  this  national  mistake  has  not  beau  duly  noticed  by  Jeremy  Bentham  in 
his  '  Book  of  Fallacies."  As  soon  might  it  be  presumed  that  tlie  pot-bellied 
Falstaff,  faring  on  venison  and  sack,  could  overcome  in  prowess  Owen  Glen- 
dower,  who,  I  suppose,  fed  on  leeks  ;  or  that  the  lean  and  emaciated  Cassius 
was  not  a  better  soldier  than  a  well-known  sleek  and  greasy  rogue  who  fled 
from  the  battle  of  Philippi.  and.  as  he  himself  unbltishingly  tells  the  world,  left 
his  buckler  behirrd  him  :  '  Relict),  noii  bene  parmuhi: 

"I  cannot  contain  my  bile  when  I  witness  the  mode  in  which  the  lower 
orders  in  your  countr)'  abuse  the  French,  for  whom  they  have  found  nothing  in 
their  Anglo-Saxon  vocabulary  so  expressive  of  contempt  as  the  term.  '  frog- 
eater."  A  Frenchman  is  not  supposed  to  be  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood  as 
themselves ;  but,  like  the  water-snake  described  in  the  Georgics — 

'  Piscibus  atram, 
Improbus  ingluviera  ranisque  loquacibus  implet.' 

Hence  it  is  carefully  instilled  into  the  infant  mind  (when  the  young  idea  is 
taught  how  to  shoot),  that  you  won  the  victories  of  Poitiers  and  Agincourt 
mai'nly  by  the  superiority  of  your  diet.  In  hewing  down  the  ranks  of  the  foe- 
man,  much  of  the  English  army's  success  is  of  course  attributed  to  the  dex- 
terous management  of  their  cross-bills,  but  considerably  more  to  their  bill  of 
fare.  If  I  could  reason  with  such  simpletons,  I  would  refer  them  to  the  records 
of  the  commissariat  department  of  that  day,  and  open  to  their  vulgar  gaze  the 
folio  vii.  of  Rymer's  Fcedera,  where,  in  the  twelfth  year  of  Edward  III., 
A.D.  1338,  at  page  1021,  they  would  find,  that  previous  to  the  victory  of  Cressy 
there  were  shipped  at  Portsmouth,  for  the  use  of  these  gallant  troops,  fifty  tons 
of  Yarmouth  herrings.  Such  were  the  supplies  (rather  urmsual  now  in  the 
contracts  at  Somerset  House)  which  enabled  Edward  and  his  valiant  son  to 
drive  the  hosts  of  France  before  them,  and  roll  on  the  tide  of  war  till  the 
towers  of  Paris  \ielded  to  the  mighty  torrent.  After  a  hasty  repast  on  such 
simple  diet,  might  the  Black  Prmcc  appropriately  address  his  girded  knight-s 
in  Shakespearian  phrase, 

'  Thus  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land 
Have  we  marched  on  without  impediment.' 

"The  enemy  sorely  grudged  them  their  supplies.  For  it  appears  by  the 
chronicles  of  Enguerrand  de  Monstrellet,  the  continuator  of  Froissart,  that  in 
1429,  while  the  English  were  besieging  Orleans,  the  Duke  of  Bedford  sent  from 
his  head-quarters,  Paris,  on  the  Ash  Wednesday  of  that  year,  five  hundred 
carts  laden  with  herrings,  for  the  use  of  the  camp  during  Lent,  when  a  party 
of  French  noblemen,  viz.,  Xaintraille,  Lahire,  De  la  Tour  de  Cha\-igny,  and 
the  Chevalier  de  Lafayette  (ancestor  of  the  revolutionary  veteran),  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  intercept  the  convoy.  But  the  English  detachment,  under 
whose  safeguard  was  this  precious  deposit,  fought  pro  aris  et  focis  in  its 
defence,  and  the  assailants  were  routed  with  the  loss  of  si.xscore  knights  and 
much  plel)eian  slaughter.  Read  Rapin  s  account  of  the  affray,  which  was 
thence  called  '  la  journCc  des  harcngs.' 

"  What  schoolboy  is  ignorant  of  the  fact,  that  at  the  eve  of  the  battle  of 
Hastings,  which  gave  to  your  Norman  ancestors  the  conquest  of  the  island,  the 
conduct  of  the  .Anglo-Britons  was  strongly  contrasted  with  that  of  the  invaders 
from  France;  for  while  in  Harolds  camp  the  besotted  natives  spent  the  night 
in  revelling  and  gluttony,  the  Norman  chivalry  gave  their  time  to  fasting  and 
devotion.  — (C/V/rt'jw////,  A.U.  1066.) 

"  It  has  not  escaped  the  penetrating  mind  of  the  sagacious  Buffon,  in  his 
\-iews  of  man  and  man's  propensities  (which,  after  all,  are  the  proper  study  of 
mankind),  that  a  predilection  for  light  food  and  spare  diet  has  always  been  the 
characteristic  of  the  Celtic  and  Eastern  races  ;  while  the  Teutonic,  the  Sclav- 


onian,  and  Tartar  branches  of  the  human  family  betray  an  aboriginal  craving 
for  heaw  meat,  and  are  gross  feeders.  In  many  countries  of  Europe  there  has 
been  a  slight  amalgamation  of  blood,  and  the  international  pedigree  in  parts 
of  the  continent  has  become  perplexed  and  doubtful  :  but  the  most  obtuse 
observer  can  see  that  the  phlegmatic  habits  of  the  Prussians  and  Dutch  argue  a 
different  genealogical  origin  from  that  which  produced  the  lively  disposition  of 
the  tribes  of  Southern  Europe.  The  best  specimens  extant  of  the  genuine 
Celt  are  the  Greeks,  the  Arabians,  and  the  Irish,  all  of  whom  are  temperate  in 
their  food.  Among  European  denominations,  in  proportion  as  the  Celtic  in- 
fusion predominates,  so  in  a  corresponding  ratio  is  the  national  character  for 
abstemiousness.  Nor  would  I  thus  dwell  on  an  otherwise  uninteresting  specu- 
lation, were  I  not  about  to  draw  a  corollar\%  and  show  how  these  secret  influ- 
ences become  apparent  at  what  is  called  the  great  epoch  of  the  Reformation. 
The  latent  tendency  to  escape  from  fasting  observances  became  then  revealed, 
and  what  had  lain  dormant  for  ages  was  at  once  developed.  The  Tartar  and 
Sclavonic  breed  of  men  flung  off  the  yoke  of  Rome  ;  while  the  Celtic  races 
remained  faithful  to  the  successor  of  the  'Usherman,'  and  kept  Lent. 

"  The  Hollanders,  the  Swedes,  the  Saxons,  the  Prussians,  and  in  Germany 
those  circles  in  which  the  Gothic  blood  ran  heaviest  and  most  stagnant,  hailed 
Luther  as  a  deliverer  from  salt-fish.  The  fatted  calf  was  killed,  bumpers  of 
ale  went  round,  and  Popery  went  to  the  dogs.  Half  Europe  followed  the 
impetus  given  to  free  opinions,  and  the  congenial  impulse  of  the  gastric  juice ; 
joining  in  reform,  not  because  they  loved  Rome  less,  but  because  they  loved  sub- 
stantial fare  more.  Meantime  neighbours  differed.  The  Dutch,  dull  and 
opaque  as  their  own  Zuydersee,  growled  defiance  at  the  Vatican  when  their 
food  was  to  be  controlled  ;  the  Belgians,  being  a  shade  nearer  to  the  Celtic 
family,  submitted  to  the  fast.  While  Hamburg  clung  to  its  beef,  and  West- 
phalia preserved  her  hams,  Munich  and  Bavaria  adhered  to  the  Pope  and  to 
sour-crout  with  desperate  fidelity.  As  to  the  Cossacks,  and  all  that  set  of 
northern  marauders,  they  never  kept  Lent  at  any  time;  and  it  would  be  arrant 
folly  to  e.xpect  that  the  horsemen  of  the  river  Don,  and  the  Esquimaux  of  the 
polar  latitudes,  would  think  of  restricting  their  ravenous  propensities  in  a 
Christian  fashion;  the  very  system  of  cookery  adopted  by  these  terrible 
hordes  would,  I  fear,  have  given  Dr.  Kitchinerafit  of  cholera.  The  apparatus 
is  graphically  described  by  Samuel  Butler  :  I  will  indulge  you  with  part  of  the 
quotation  : 

'  For  like  their  countn-men  the  Huns, 
They  cook  their  meat 

All  day  on  horses'  backs  they  straddle, 
Then  every  man  eats  up  his  saddle  1'* 

A  strange  process,  no  doubt  :  but  not  without  some  sort  of  precedent  in 
classic  records;  for  the  Latin  poet  introduces  young  lulus  at  a  picnic,  in  the 
^neid,  exclaiming — 

'Heus  !  etiam  mensas  consumimus.' 

"  In  England,  as  the  inhabitants  are  of  a  mixed  descent,  and  as  there  has 
ever  been  a  disrehsh  for  any  alteration  in  the  habits  and  fireside  traditions  of  the 
countr}',  the  fish-days  were  remembered  long  after  every  Popish  observance  had 
become  obsolete ;  and  it  was  not  until  1668  that  butchers'  meat  finally  estab- 
lished its  ascendency  in  Lent,  at  the  arrival  of  the  Dutchman.  We  have  seen 
the  exertions  of  the  Tudor  dynasty  under  Elizabeth,  and  of  the  house  of 
Stuart  under  James  I.  and  Charles  I.,  to  keep  up  these  fasts,  which  had 
flourished  in  the  days  of  the  Plantagenets,  which  the  Heptarchy  had  revered, 

■   *  Hudibras,  canto  ii.  1.  275. 


10  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

which  Alfred  and  Canute  had  scrupulously  obser\'ed,  and  which  had  come 
down  positively  recommended  by  the  Venerable  Bede.  William  III.  gave  a 
death-blow  to  Lent.  Until  then  it  had  lingered  among  the  threadbare  curates 
of  the  country,  extrcrna  per  illos  exccdcns  terris  vestigia  fecit,  having  been  long 
before  exiled  from  the  gastronomic  hall  of  both  Universities.  But  its  extinction 
was  complete.  Its  ghost  might  still  remain,  flitting  through  the  land,  without 
corporeal  or  ostensible  form  ;  and  it  vanished  totally  with  the  fated  star  of  the 
Pretender.  It  was  William  who  conferred  the  honour  of  knighthood  on  the 
loin  of  beef  ;  and  such  was  the  progress  of  disaffection  under  Queen  .Anne,  that 
the  folks,  to  manifest  their  disregard  for  the  Pope,  agreed  that  a  certain  ex- 
tremity of  the  goose  should  be  denominated  his  nose  ! 

"The  indomitable  spirit  of  the  Celtic  Irish  preserved  Lent  in  this  country 
unimpaired — an  event  of  such  importance  to  England,  that  I  sliall  dwell  on  it 
by-and-by  more  fully.  The  Spaniards  and  Portuguese,  although  Gothic  and 
Saracen  blood  has  commingled  in  the  pure  current  of  their  Phoenician  pedi- 
gree, clung  to  Lent  with  characteristic  tenacity.  The  Gallic  race,  even  in  the 
days  of  Caesar,  were  remarkably  temperate,  and  are  so  to  the  present  day. 
The  French  very  justly  abhor  the  gross,  carcase-eating  propensities  of  John 
Bull.  But  as  to  the  keeping  of  Lent,  in  an  ecclesiastical  point  of  view,  I  can- 
not take  on  myself  to  vouch,  since  the  ruffianly  revolution,  for  their  orthodoxy 
in  that  or  any  other  religious  matters.  They  are  sadly  deficient  therein,  though 
still  delicate  and  refined  in  their  cookery,  like  one  of  their  crwn  artistes,  whose 
epitaph  is  in  Pere  la  Chaise — 

'  Ci  git  qui  dbs  I'age  le  plus  tendre 
Inventa  !a  sauce  Kohert ; 
Mais  jamais  il  ne  put  apprendre 
Ni  son  credo  ni  son  pater.' 

"  It  was  not  so  of  old,  when  the  pious  monarchs  of  France  dined  pubhcly  in 
Passion  week  on  fasting  fare,  in  order  to  recommend  by  their  example  the  use  of 
fish— when  the  heir-apparent  to  the  crown  delighted  to  be  called  a  dolphin  — 
and  when  one  of  your  own  kings,  being  on  a  visit  to  France,  got  so  fond  of 
their  lamprey  patties,  that  he  died  of  indigestion  on  his  return. 

"Antiquity  has  left  us  no  document  to  prove  that  the  early  Spartans  kept 
certain  days  of  abstinence;  but  \.\\^\x  black  broth,  of  which  the  ingredients  have 
puzzled  the  learned,  must  have  been  a  fitting  substitute  for  the  soupe  maigrc  of 
our  Lent,  since  it  required  a  hard  run  on  the  banks  of  the  Kurotas  to  make  it 
somewhat  palatable.  At  all  events,  their  great  lawgiver  was  an  eminent 
ascetic,  and  applied  himself  much  to  restrict  the  diet  of  his  hardy  countrymen  ; 
and  if  it  is  certain  that  tliere  existed  a  mystic  bond  of  union  among  the  300 
Lacedemonians  who  stood  in  the  gap  of  Thermopylae,  it  assuredly  was  not  a 
beef-steak  club  of  which  Leonidas  was  president. 

"The  Athenians  were  too  cultivated  a  people  not  to  appreciate  the  value  of 
periodical  days  of  self-denial  and  abstemiousness.  Accordingly,  on  the  eve  of 
certain  festivals,  they  fed  exclusively  on  figs  and  the  honey  of  Mount  Hymettus. 
Plutarch  expressly  tells  us  that  a  solemn  fast  preceded  the  celebration  of  the 
Tiicrmophoria  ;  thence  termed  j/tjo-xFia.  In  looking  over  the  works  of  tlie 
great  geographer  Strabo  (lib.  xiv.),  I  find  sufficient  evidence  of  the  respect  paid 
to  Jish  by  the  inhabitants  of  a  distinguished  Greek  city,  in  which  that  erudite 
author  says  the  arrival  of  the  fishing-smacks  in  the  harbour  was  announced  joy- 
fully by  sounding  the  '  tocsin  ;'  and  that  the  musicians  in  the  public  piazza  were 
left  abruptly  by  the  crowd,  whenever  the  bell  tolled  for  the  sale  of  the  herrings  : 
Ki-JapuiOov  I'rriCtiKUVfi.ti'ou  thhi  fiiu  aKpoaa^uL  Trai/Tas"  cos  6t  u  KtoouiV  o 
KUTu  Tjjw  oiJ/oTru>\iai/  f\\/o<\n](Tf.  KUTu\i'rrni>Ti<:  mr^Xdeiu  etti  to  o\l/oi>.  A 
custom  to  which  Plutarch  also  refers  in  his  Symposium  of  Plato,  lib.  iv.  cap,  4  : 
Tous   "TTfpi   i^duoTTtoXiav  avncicoDTw:   k'«i  toi;   kwcwi/o^   o^ttos    ukovovtu^. 

"That  practices  similar  to  our  Lent  existed  among  the  Romans,  may  be 


Father  Prout  's  Apology  for  Lent.  1 1 

gathered  from  various  sources.  In  Ovid's  Fasti  (notwithstanding  the  title)  I 
find  nothing;  but  from  the  rehques  of  old  sacerdotal  memorials  collected  by 
Stephano  Morcelli,  it  appears  that  Numa  fitted  himself  by  fasting  for  an  inter- 
view with  the  mysterious  inmate  of  Egeria's  grotto.  Li\y  tells  us  that  the 
decemvirs,  on  the  occurrence  of  certain  prodigies,  were  instructed  by  a  vote  of 
the  senate  to  consult  the  Sibylline  books  ;  and  the  result  was  the  establishment 
of  a  fast  in  honour  of  Ceres,  to  be  observed  perpetually  every  five  years.  It  is 
hard  to  tell  whether  Horace  is  in  joke  or  in  earnest  when  he  introduces  a  vow 
relative  to  these  days  of  penance — 

*  Frigida  si  puerum  quartana  reliquerit  Illo 
Manfe  die  quo  tii  indicts  jej'unia  nudus 
In  Tyberi  stabit  I '    Scri/i.  lib.  ii.  sat.  3,  v.  290. 

But  we  are  left  in  tlie  dark  as  to  whether  they  observed  their  fasts  by  restricting 
themselves  to  lentils  and  vegetable  diet,  or  whether  fish  was  allowed.  On  this 
interesting  point  we  find  nothing  in  the  lan's  of  the  twelve  tables.  However,  a 
marked  predilection  for  herbs,  and  such  frugal  fare,  was  distinctive  of  the  old 
Romans,  as  the  very  names  of  the  principal  families  sufficiently  indicate.  The 
Fabii,  for  instance,  were  so  called  from  faba,  a  bean,  on  which  simple  aliment 
that  indefatigable  race  of  heroes  subsisted  for  many  generations.  The  noble  line 
of  the  Lentuli  derive  their  patronymic  from  a  favourite  kind  of  lentil,  to  which 
they  were  partial,  and  from  which  Lent  itself  is  so  called.  The  aristocratic  Pisoes 
were  similarly  circumstanced ;  for  their  family  appellation  will  be  found  to 
signify  a  kind  of  vetches.  Scipio  was  titled  from  cepe,  an  onion  ;*  and  we  may 
trace  the  surname  and  hereditary  honours  of  the  great  Roman  orator  to  the 
same  horticultural  source,  for  cicer  in  Latin  means  a  sort  of  pea  ;  and  so  on 
through  the  whole  nomenclature. 

' '  Hence  the  Roman  satirist,  ever  ahve  to  the  follies  of  his  age,  can  find  nothing 
more  ludicrovffi  than  the  notion  of  the  Egyptians,  who  entertained  a  religious 
repugnance  to  vegetable  fare  : 

'  Porrum  et  cepe  nefas  violare  et  frangere  morsu, 
O  sanctas  gentes  ! '  Juv.  Sat.  15. 

And  as  to  fish,  the  fondness  of  the  people  of  his  day  for  such  food  can  be 
demonstrated  from  his  fourth  satire,  where  he  dwells  triumphantly  on  the  cap- 
ture of  a  splendid  tunny  in  the  waters  of  the  Adriatic,  and  describes  the 
assembling  of  a  cabinet  council  in  the  '  Downing  Street '  of  Rome  to  deter- 
mine how  it  should  be  properly  cooked.  It  must  be  admitted  that,  since  the 
Whigs  came  to  office,  although  they  have  had  many  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish  to 
deliberate  upon,  they  have  shown  nothing  half  so  dignified  or  rational  in  their 
decisions  as  the  imperial  privy  council  of  Domitian. 

"The  magnificence  displayed  by  the  masters  of  the  world  in  getting  up  fish- 
ponds is  a  fact  which  every  schoolboy  has  learnt,  as  well  as  that  occasionally 
the  murceiicB  were  treated  to  the  luxury  of  a  slave  or  two,  flung  in  alive  for  their 
nutriment.  The  celebrity  which  the  maritime  villas  of  Baise  obtained  for  that 
fashionable  watering-place,  is  a  further  argument  in  point ;  and  we  know  that 
when  the  reprobate  Verres  was  driven  into  exile  by  the  brilliant  declamation  of 
Cicero,  he  consoled  himself  at  Marseilles  over  a  dish  of  sprats,  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  at  Rome  such  a  delicacy  could  not  be  procured  in  such  high  per- 
fection. 

"Simplicity  and  good  taste  in  diet  gradually  declining  in  the  Roman 
empire,  the  gigantic  frame  of  the  colossus  itself  soon  hastened  to  decay.  It 
burst  of  its  own  plethory.  The  example  of  the  degenerate  court  had  pervaded 
the  provinces;  and  soon  the  whole  body  politic  reeled,  as  after  a  surfeit  of 

*  Here  Prout  is  in  error.  Scipio  means  a  "walking-stick,"  and  commemorates  the 
filial  piety  of  one  of  the  geris  Cornelia,  who  went  about  constantly  supporting  his  totter- 
ing aged  father.  — O.  Y. 


12  The  Works  of  Father  Front 


debauchery.  Vitellius  had  gormandized  with  vulgar  gluttony;  the  Emperor 
Maximinus  was  a  living  sepulchre,  where  whole  hecatombs  of  butchers'  meat 
were  daily  entombed ;  and  no  modern  keeper  of  a  table  d'hote  could  stand  a 
succession  of  such  guests  as  Heliogabalus.  Gibbon,  whose  penetrating  eye 
nothing  has  escaped  in  the  causes  of  tiie  Decline  and  Fall,  notices  this  vile 
propensity  to  overfeeding  ;  and  shows  that,  to  reconstruct  the  mighty  system  of 
dominion  established  by  the  rugged  republicans  (the  Fabii,  the  Lentuli,  and 
Pisoes)  nothing  but  a  bond,  fide  return  to  simple  fare  and  homely  pottage  could 
be  effectual,  the  hint  was  duly  acted  on.  The  Popes,  frugal  and  abstemious, 
ascended  the  vacant  throne  of  the  Ccesars,  and  ordered  Lent  to  be  observed 
throughout  the  eastern  and  western  world. 

"The  theory  of  fasting,  audits  practical  application,  did  wonders  in  that 
emerc^ency.  It  renovated  the  rotten  constitution  of  Europe— it  tamed  the 
hungry  hordes  of  desperate  savages  that  rushed  down  with  a  war-whoop  on  the 
prostrate  ruins  of  the  empire— it  taught  them  self-control,  and  gave  them  a 
masterdom  over  their  barbarous  propensities  ;— it  did  more,  it  originated 
civilization  and  commerce. 

"A  few  straggling  fishermen  built  huts  on  the  flats  of  the  Adriatic,  for  the 
convenience  of  resorting  thither  in  Lent,  to  procure  their  annual  supply  of 
fish.  The  demand  for  that  article  became  so  brisk  and  so  extensive  through  the 
vast  dominions  of  the  Lombards  in  northern  Italy,  that  from  a  temporary 
establishment  it  became  a  permanent  colony  in  the  la^^iines.  Working  like  the 
coral  insect  under  the  seas,  with  the  same  unconsciousness  of  the  mighty  result 
of  their  labours,  these  industrious  men  for  a  century  kept  on  enlarging  their 
nest  upon  the  waters,  till  their  enterprise  became  fully  developed,  and 

'  Venice  sat  in  state,  throned  on  a  hundred  isles. ' 

"The  fasting  necessities  of  France  and  Spain  were  ministered  to  by  the 
rising  republic  of  Geno:i,  whose  origin  I  delight  to  trace  from  a  small  fishing 
town  to  a  mighty  emporium  of  commerce,  fit  cradle  to  rock  (in  the  infant 
Columbus)  the  destinies  of  a  new  world.  Few  of  us  have  turned  our  attention 
to  the  fact,  that  our  favourite  fish,  the  John  Dory,  derives  its  name  from  the 
Genoese  admiral,  Doria,  whose  seamanship  best  thrived  on  meagre  diet.  Of 
Anne  Chovy,  who  has  given  her  name  to  another  fish  found  in  the  Sardinian 
waters,  no  record  remains ;  but  she  was  doubtless  a  heroine.  Indeed,  to  revert 
to  tiie  humble  herring  before  you,  its  etymology  shows  it  to  be  well  adapted  for 
warlike  stomachs,  heer  (its  German  root)  signifying  an  army.  In  England,  is 
not  a  .soldier  synonymous  with  a  lobster? 

"  In  the  progress  of  maritime  industry  along  the  shores  of  southern,  and  sub- 
sequently of  northern  I'^urope,  we  find  a  love  for  freedom  to  grow  up  with  a 
fondness  for  fish,  l-^nterprise  and  liberty  flourished  among  the  islands  of  the 
Arcliipelago.  And  when  Naples  was  to  be  rescued  from  tiiraldom,  it  was  the 
hardy  race  of  watermen  who  plied  in  her  beauteous  bay,  that  rose  at  Freedom's 
call  to  eflect  her  deliverance,  when  she  basked  for  one  short  hour  in  its  full 
sunshine  under  the  gallant  Masaniello. 

"As  to  the  commercial  grandeur,  of  which  a  constant  demand  for  fish  was 
the  creating  principle,  to  illustrate  its  importance,  I  need  only  refer  to  a  remark- 
able expression  of  tliat  deep  politician,  and  exceedingly  clever  economist, 
Cliarles  V.,  when,  on  a  progress  through  a  part  of  his  dominions,  on  which  the 
sun  at  that  period  never  went  down,  he  happened  to  pass  through  Amsterdam, 
in  company  witii  the  (^ueen  of  Hungary  :  on  tiiat  occasion,  being  complimented 
in  the  usual  form  by  the  burgomasters  of  his  faithful  city,  he  asked  to  see  the 
mausoleum  of  John  liachalen,  tlie  famous  hcrring-barreller ;  but  when  told  that 
his  grave,  simple  and  unadorned,  lay  in  liis  native  island  in  the  Zuydersee, 
'  What  ! '  cried  the  illustrious  visitor,  '  is  it  thus  that  my  people  of  the  Nether- 
lands sliow  their  gratitude  to  so  great  a  man?  Know  ye  not  that  the  founda- 
\ 


tions  of  Amsterdam  are  laid  on  herring-bones?'  Their  majesties  went  on  a 
pilgrimage  to  his  tomb,  as  is  related  by  Sir  Hugh  Willoughby  in  his  '  Historic 
of  Fishes.' 

"  It  would  be  of  immense  advantage  to  these  countries  were  we  to  return 
unanimously  to  the  ancient  practice,  and  restore  to  the  full  extent  of  their 
wise  pohcy  the  laws  of  Elizabeth.  The  revival  of  Lent  is  the  sole  remedv  for 
the  national  complaints  on  the  decUne  of  the  shipping  interest,  the  sole  way  to 
meet  the  outcry  about  corn-laws.  Instead  of  Mr.  Attwood's  project  for  a 
change  of  currency,  Mr.  W'ilmot  Horton's  panacea  of  emigration,  and  Miss 
Martineau's  preventive  check,  re-enact  Lent.  But  mark,  I  do  not  go  so  far  as 
to  say  that  by  this  means  all  and  everything  desirable  can  be  accomplished,  nor 
do  I  undertake  by  it  to  pay  off  the  national  debt— though  the  Lords  of  the 
Treasury  might  learn  that,  when  the  disciples  were  at  a  loss  to  meet  the  de- 
mand of  tax-collectors  in  their  day,  they  caught  a  fish,  and  found  in  its  gills 
sufficient  to  satisfy  the  revenue.     (St.  Matthnu' s  Gospel,  chap,  xvii.) 

"Of  all  the  varied  resources  of  this  great  empire,  the  most  important,  in  a 
national  point  of  view,  has  long  been  the  portion  of  capital  afloat  in  the 
merchantmen,  and  the  strength  invested  in  the  navy  of  Great  Britain.  True, 
the  British  thunder  has  too  long  slept  under  a  sailor-king,  and  under  so  many 
galling  national  insults ;  and  it  were  full  time  to  say  that  it  shall  no  longer 
sleep  on  in  the  grave  where  Sir  James  Graham  has  laid  it.  But  my  concern  is 
principally  for  the  alarming  depression  of  our  merchants'  property  in  vessels, 
repeatedly  proved  in  evidence  before  your  House  of  Commons.  Poulett 
Thomson  is  right  to  call  attention  to  the  cries  of  the  shipowners,  and  to  that 
dismal  howling  from  the  harbours,  described  by  the  prophet  as  the  forerunner 
of  the  fall  of  Babylon. 

"  The  best  remedial  measure  would  be  a  resumption  of  fish-diet  during  a 
portion  of  the  year.  Talk  not  of  a  resumption  of  cash  payments,  of  opening 
the  trade  to  China,  or  of  finding  a  north-west  passage  to  national  prosperity. 
Talk  net  of  '  calling  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,'  when  you  neglect  to  elicit 
food  and  employment  for  thousands  from  its  exuberant  bosom.  Visionary 
projectors  are  never  without  some  complex  system  of  beneficial  improve- 
ment ;  but  I  would  say  of  them,  in  the  words  of  an  Irish  gentleman  who  has 
lately  travelled  in  search  of  religion, 

'  They  may  talk  of  the  nectar  that  sparkled  for  Helen — 
Theirs  is  a  fiction,  but  this  is  realitj-.' 

Melodies. 

Demand  would  create  supply.  Flotillas  would  issue  from  every  seaport  in  the 
spring,  and  ransack  the  treasures  of  the  ocean  for  the  periodical  market  :  and 
the  wooden  walls  of  Old  England,  instead  of  crumbling  into  so  much  rotten 
timber,  would  be  converted  into  so  many  huge  wooden  spoons  to  feed  the 
population. 

"It  has  been  sweetly  sung,  as  well  as  wisely  said,  by  a  genuine  English 
writer,  that 

'  Full  man}-  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

I'he  dark,  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear. ' 

To  these  undiscovered  riches  Lent  would  point  the  national  eye,  and  direct 
the  national  energies.  Very  absurd  would  then  appear  the  forebodings  of  the 
croakers,  who  with  some  plausibility  now  predict  the  approach  of  national 
bankruptcy  and  famine.  Time  enough  to  think  of  that  remote  contingency 
when  the  sea  shall  be  exhausted  of  its  live  buUion,  and  the  abyss  shall  cry, 
'  Hold,  enough  !  '  Time  enough  to  fear  a  general  stoppage,  when  the  run  on 
the  Dogger  Bank  shall  have  produced  a  failure— when  the  shoals  of  the  teem- 
ing north  shall  have  refused  to  meet  their  engagements  in  the  sunny  waters  of 
the  south,  and  the  drafts  of  the  net  shall  have  been  dishonoured. 


"  I  am  one  of  the  many  modern  admirers  of  Edmund  Burke,  \vho,  in  his 
speech  on  American  conciUation,  has  an  arginnentum  piscatorlum  quite  to  my 
fancy.      Telle  !  Ifj^e  ! 

"  '  As  to  the  wealth  which  tliese  colonies  have  derived  from  the  sea  by  their 
fisheries,  you  had  all  that  matter  fully  opened  at  your  bar.  You  surely 
thought  these  acquisitions  of  value;  for  they  even  seemed  to  excite  your  envy. 
And  yet  the  spirit  with  which  that  enterprising  employment  hcis  been  exercised 
ought  rather,  in  my  opinion,  to  have  raised  your  esteem  and  admiration.  And 
pray,  sir,  what  in  the  world  is  equal  to  it?  Look  at  the  manner  in  which  the 
people  of  New  England  have  carried  on  their  fishery.  While  we  follow  them 
among  the  tumbling  mountains  of  ice,  penetrating  into  the  deepest  recesses  of 
Hudson's  Bay;  while  we  are  looking  for  them  beneath  the  arctic  circle,  we 
hear  that  they  have  pierced  into  the  opposite  region  of  polar  cold,— that  they 
are  at  the  antipodes,  and  engaged  under  the  frozen  serpent  of  the  south, 
falkland  Island,  which  seemed  too  remote  and  romantic  an  object  for  the 
grasp  of  national  ambition,  is  but  a  stage  and  resting-place  in  the  progress  of 
their  victorious  industry.  Nor  is  the  equinoctial  heat  more  discouraging  to 
them  than  the  accumulated  winter  of  both  the  poles.  We  know,  that  while 
some  of  them  draw  the  line  and  strike  the  harpoon  on  the  coast  of  Africa, 
others  run  the  longitude,  and  pursue  their  gigantic  game  along  the  shores  of 
Brazil  :  no  sea  that  is  not  vexed  by  their  fisheries,  no  chmate  that  is  not 
witness  to  their  toils  ! ' 

"Such  glorious  imaginings,  such  beatific  dreams,  would  (I  speak  advisedly) 
be  realized  in  these  countries  by  Lent's  magic  spell ;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  our  patriot  King,  the  patron  of  so  many  very  questionable  reforms,  will 
see  the  propriety  of  restoring  the  laws  of  Elizabeth  in  this  matter.  Stanislaus, 
the  late  pious  king  of  Lorraine,  so  endeared  himself  to  his  subjects  in  general, 
and  market-gardeners  in  particular,  by  his  sumptuary  regulations  respecting 
vegetable  die:  in  Lent,  W\'a.\.\x\.\\\^  hortiis siccus  of  Nancy  his  statue  has  been 
placed,  with  an  appropriate  inscription  : — 

*  Vitales  inter  succos  herbasque  salubres, 
Quam  benb  stat  populi  vita  salusque  sui  I  * 

"A  similar  compliment  would  await  his  present  Majesty  William  IV.  from 
the  shipowners,  and  the  'worshipful  Fishmongers"  Company,"  if  he  should 
adopt  the  suggestion  thrown  out  here.  He  would  figure  colossally  in  Trafal- 
gar Square,  pointing  with  his  trident  to  Hungerford  Market.  The  three- 
pronged  instrument  in  his  hand  would  be  a  most  appropriate  emblem  (much 
more  so  than  on  the  pinnacle  of  Buckingham  Palace),  since  it  would  signify 
equally  well  the  fork  with  wliich  he  fed  his  people,  and  the  sceptre  with  which 
he  ruled  the  world. 

'  Le  trident  dc  Neptune  est  le  sceptre  du  monde  !' 

Then  would  be  solved  the  grand  problem  of  the  Corn-Law  question.  Hitherto 
my  Lord  Fitzwilliam  has  taken  nothing  by  his  motions.  But  were  Lent  pro- 
claimed at  Charing  Cross  and  Temple  Bar,  and  through  tlie  market  towns  of 
England,  a  speedy  fall  in  the  price  of  grazing  stock,  though  it  might  afflict 
Lord  Althorp,  would  eventually  harmonize  the  jarring  interests  of  agriculture 
and  manufacturing  industry.  The  supembundant  population  of  the  farming 
districts  would  crowd  to  the  coast,  and  find  employment  in  the  fisheries  ; 
while  Devonshire  House  would  repudiate  for  a  time  the  huge  sirloin,  and 
receiving  as  a  stibstitute  the  ponderous  turbot,  Spitalfields  would  exhibit  on 
lier  frugal  board  salt  ling  flanked  with  potatoes.  A  salutary  taste  for  fish 
would  be  created  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  island,  an  epoch  most  bene- 
ficial to  the  country  would  take  date  from  that  enactment. 

'Oniiic  qiium  Proteus  pccus  cgit  altos 
Viscrc  montes.' 


FatJicr  Front's  Apology  for  Lent.  15 

Xor  need  the  landlords  take  alarm.  People  would  not  plough  the  ground 
less  because  they  might  plough  the  deep  more  ;  and  while  smiling  Ceres 
would  still  walk  through  our  isle  with  her  horn  of  plenty,  Thetis  would  follo\y 
in  her  train  with  a  rival  cornucopia. 

"  Mark  the  effects  of  this  observance  in  Ireland,  where  it  continues  in  its 
primitive  austerity,  undiminished,  unshorn  of  its  beams.  The  Irish  may  be 
wrong,  but  the  consequences  to  Protestant  England  are  immense.  To  Lent 
you  o\ve  the  connection  of  the  two  islands ;  it  is  the  golden  link  that  binds  the 
two  kingdoms  together.  Abolish  fasting,  and  from  tnat  evil  hour  no  beef  or 
pork  would  be  suffered  by  the  wild  natives  to  go  over  to  your  English  markets ; 
and  the  export  of  provisions  would  be  discontinued  by  a  people  that  had 
unlearned  the  lessons  of  starvation.  Adieu  to  shipments  of  live  stock  and 
consignments  of  bacon  !  ^\'ere  there  not  some  potent  mysterious  spell  over 
this  country,  think  you  we  should  allow  the  fat  of  the  land  to  be  everlastingly 
abstracted?  Let  us  learn  that  there  is  no  virtue  in  Lent,  and  repeal  is 
triumphant  to-morrow.  \\q.  are  in  truth  a  most  abstemious  race.  Hence  our 
great  superiority  over  our  Protestant  fellow-countr\m-ien  in  the  jury-box.  It 
having  been  found  that  they  could  never  hold  out  against  hunger  as  we  can 
when  locked  up,  and  that  the  verdict  was  generally  carried  by  popish  obstinacy, 
former  administrations  discountenanced  our  admission  to  serve  on  juries  at  all. 
Bv  an  oversight  of  Serjeant  Lefroy,  all  this  has  escaped  the  framers  of  the 
new  jury  bill  for  Ireland. 

"To 'return  to  the  Irish  exports.  The  principal  item  is  that  of  pigs.  The 
hog  is  as  essential  an  inmate  of  the  Irish  cabin  as  the  Arab  steed  of  the 
shepherds  tent  on  the  plains  of  Mesopotamia.  Both  are  looked  on  as  part  of 
the  household ;  and  the  affectionate  manner  in  which  these  dumb  friends  of  the 
family  are  treated,  here  as  well  as  there,  is  a  trait  of  national  resemblance, 
denoting  a  common  origin.  We  are  quite  oriental  in  most  of  our  peculiarities. 
The  learned  \'allancey  will  have  it,  that  our  consanguinity  is  with  the  Jews.  I 
might  elucidate  the  colonel's  discovery,  by  showing  how  the  pig  in  Ireland  plaj-s 
the  part  of  the  scape-goat  of  the  Isra'elites  :  he  is  a  sacred  thing,  gets  the  run 
of  the  kitchen,  is  rarely  molested,  never  killed,  but  alive  and  buoyant  leaves 
the  cabin  when  taken  off  by  the  landlord's  driver  for  arrears  of  rent,  and  is  then 
shipped  clean  out  of  the  country,  to  be  heard  of  no  more.  Indeed,  the  pigs  of 
Ireland  bear  this  notable  resemblance  to  their  cousins  of  Judea,  that  nothing 
can  keep  them  from  the  sea,— a  tendency  which  strikes  all  travellers  in  the 
interior  of  the  island  whenever  they  meet  our  droves  of  swine  precipitating 
themselves  towards  the  outports  for  shipment. 

"  To  ordinary  observers  this  forbearance  of  the  most  ill-fed  people  on  the 
face  of  the  globe  towards  their  pigs  would  appear  inexplicable  ;  and  if  you 
have  read  the  legend  of  Saint  Anthony  and  his  pig,  you  will  understand  the 
value  of  their  resistance  to  temptation. 

' '  They  have  a  great  resource  in  the  potato.  This  capital  esculent  grows 
nowhere' in  such  perfection,  not  even  in  America,  where  it  is  indigenous.  But 
it  has  often  striick  me  that  a  greater  national  delinquency  has  occurred  in  the 
sad  neglect  of  people  in  this  country  towards  the  memor)^  of  the  great  and 
good  mVn  who  conferred  on  us  so  valuable  a  boon,  on  his  return  from  the  expe- 
dition to  Virginia.  To  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  no  monument  has  yet  been  erected, 
and  nothing  has  been  done  to  repair  the  injustice  of  his  contemporaries.  His 
head  has  rolled  from  the  scaffold  on  Tower  Hill ;  and  though  he  has  fed  with 
his  discovery  more  families,  and  given  a  greater  impulse  to  population,  than  any 
other  benefactor  of  mankind,  no  testimonial  exists  to  commem.orate  his  bene- 
faction. Nelson  has  a  pillar  in  Dublin  :— in  the  city  of  Limerick  a  whole 
column  has  been  devoted  to  Spring  Rice  !  !  and  the  mighty  genius  of  Raleigh 
is  forgotten.  I  have  seen  some  animals  feed  under  the  majestic  oak  on  the 
acorns  that  fell  from  its  spreading  branches  {glande  sues  hzti),  without  once 


1 6  The  Works  of  Father  Front, 


looking  up  to  the  parent  tree  that  showered  down  blessings  on  their  ungrateful 
heads.  " 

Here  endeth  the  "  Apolog>-,"  and  so  abruptly  terminate  my  notes  of  Prout's 
Lenten  vindicicB.  But,  alas  !  still  more  abrupt  was  the  death  of  this  respect- 
able divine,  which  occurred  last  month,  on  Shrove  Tuesday.  There  was  a 
peculiar  fitness  in  the  manner  of  Anacreon's  exit  from  this  hfe  ;  but  not  so  in 
the  melancholy  termination  of  Front's  abstemious  career,  an  account  of  which 
is  conveyed  to  me  in  a  long  and  pathetic  letter  from  my  agent  in  Ireland.  It 
was  well  known  that  he  disliked  revelry  on  all  occasions;  but  if  there  was  a 
species  of  gormandizing  which  he  more  especially  abhorred,  it  was  that  prac- 
tised in  the  parish  on  pancake-night,  which  he  frequently  endeavoured  to  dis- 
countenance and  put  down,  but  unsuccessfully.  Oft  did  he  tell  his  rude 
auditors  (for  he  was  a  profound  Hellenist)  that  such  orgies  had  originated  with 
the  heathen  Greeks,  and  had  been  even  among  them  the  source  of  many  evils, 
as  the  ver>'  name  showed,  Trav  KaKov  !  So  it  would  appear,  by  Prout's  ety- 
mology of  the  pancake,  that  in  the  English  language  there  are  many  terms 
which  answer  the  description  of  Horace,  and 

■'  Graeco  fonte  cadunl  parce  detorta.' 

Contrary  to  his  own  better  taste  and  sounder  judgment,  he  was,  however,  on 
last  Shrove  Tuesday,  at  a  wedding-feast  of  some  of  my  tenantry,  induced,  from 
complacency  to  the' newly-married  couple,  to  eat  of  the  profane  aliment  ;  and 
never  was  the  Attic  derivation  of  the  pancake  more  wofully  accomplished  than 
in  the  sad  result— for  his  condescension  cost  him  his  life.  The  indigestible 
nature  of  the  compost  itself  might  not  have  been  so  destructive  in  an  ordinary 
case;  but  it  was  quite  a  stranger  and  ill  at  ease  in  Father  Prout's  stomach  :  it 
eventually  proved  fatal  in  its  effects,  and  hurried  him  away  from  this  vale  of 
tears,  leaving  the  parish  a  widow,  and  making  orphans  of  all  his  parishioners. 
My  agent  writes  that  his  funeral  (or  herring,  as  the  Irish  call  it)  was  thronged 
by  dense  multitudes  from  the  whole  county,  and  was  as  well  attended  as  if  it 
were  a  monster  meeting.  The  whole  body  of  his  brother  clerg}',  with  the 
bishop  as  usual  in  full  pontificals,  were  mourners  on  the  occasion;  and  a  Latin 
elegy  was  composed  by  the  most  learned  of  the  order.  Father  Magrath,  one, 
like  Prout,  of  the  old  school,  who  had  studied  at  Florence,  and  is  still  a  corre- 
spondent of  many  learned  Societies  abroad.  That  elegy  I  have  subjoined,  as 
a  record  of  Prout's  genuine  worth,  and  as  a  specimen  of  a  kind  of  poetry 
called  Leonine  verse,  little  cultivated  at  the  present  day,  but  greatly  in  vogue 
at  the  revival  of  letters  under  Leo  X. 

IN  MORTEM  VENERABILIS  ANDREW  PROUT,  CARMEN. 
Quid  juvat  m.  pulchro  Sanctos  dormire  sepulchro  ! 

Optimus  usque  botios  nonne  manebit  honos  ( 
Plebs  tenuiT^^^d  Pastoris  condidit  ossa, 

Splendida  sed  viiri  mens  petit  astra  viri. 
Porta  patens  esto !  coelum  reseretur  honesto. 

Neve  sit  i\  Petro  jussus  abire  retro. 
Tota  malam  sortem  sibi  flet  vicinia  vtorievt, 

Ut  pro  patre  solcnt  undique  rura  dolcnt  ; 
Sed  rures_^rt«(?'r«^;  secures  hactenus  «//</<•«/  ( 

Uisturbare^n-j^fj,  ncc  mage  tua  segcs.  j 

Audio  sittj^ulius,  rixas.  miserosque  tumult  us,  j 

Kt  pietas  lugct,  sobrietasquey?/^//.  ; 

Namque  furore  hrcji  liquidaque  ardentis  aqua  vi  j 

Antiquus  Sicholas  perdidit  agricolns.  ; 

Jam  patre  defuncto,  mcliores  flumine  lUiuto  \ 

Lactantur  pisccs  obtinuisse  7'icfs.  j 

Exultans  almo,  laitare  sub  acqiiore  snhtw' 

Carpe,  o  carpe  dies,  nam  tibi  parta  quies ! 


Father  P rout's  Apology  for  Lent.  17 


Gaudent  angidlla,  quia  tandem  est  mortuus  illet 

Presbyter  Andreas,  qui  capiebat  eas. 
'^QX.xo  piscator  \)\2lC\i\x.  pius  artis  amator, 

Cui,  propter  Diores,  pandit  utrosque./^^ifJ. 
Cur  lachr>'may>/««j  justi  comitabitur  unus? 

Flendum  est  non  tali,  sed  bene  morte  viali: 
iSIunera  nunc  Flom  spargo.     Sic  flebile  rore 

¥\oresc3.t  grajnen.     Pace  quiescat.     Aiiieii. 

Sweet  upland  !  where,  like  hermit  old,  in  peace  sojourn'd 

This  priest  devout ; 
Mark  where  beneath  thy  verdant  sod  lie  deep  inum'd 

The  bones  of  Prout  ! 
Kor  deck  with  monumental  shrine  or  tapering  column 

His  place  of  rest, 
Whose  soul,  above  earth's  homage,  meek  yet  solemn, 

Sits  mid  the  blest. 
Much  was  he  prized,  much  loved  ;  his  stem  rebuke 

O'erawed  sheep-stealers ; 
And  rDgues  fear"d  more  the  good  man's  single  look 

Than  forty  Peelers. 
He's  gone  ;  and  discord  s$bn  I  ween  will  visit 

The  land  with  quarrels  ; 
And  the  foul  demon  vex  with  stills  illicit 

The  village  morals. 
Iso  fatal  chance  could  Happen  more  to  cross 

The  public  wishes  ; 
And  all  the  neighbourhood  deplore  his  loss. 

Except  the  fishes ; 
For  he  kept  Lent  most  strict,  and  pickled  herring 

Preferred  to  gammon. 
Grim  Death  has  broke  his  angling-rod  ;  his  herring 

Delights  the  salmon. 
Ko  more  can  he  hook  up  carp,  eel,  or  Irout, 

For  fasting  pittance, — 
Arts  which  Saint  Peter  loved,  whose  gate  to  Prout 

Gave  prompt  admittance. 
Llourn  not,  but  verdantly  let  shamrocks  keep 

His  sainted  dust  ; 
The  bad  man's  death  it  well  becomes  to  weep, — 

Not  so  the  just. 


11. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT'S  VISIT  TO  THE  BLARNEY  STONE. 
{Frasers  Magazine,  May,  1834.) 


[The  number  of  Regina  containing  the  record  of  Father  Prout's  deh'ghtf  ul  imaginary 
foregathering  with  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  the^e  embellished  with  the  portrait  of  the  then 
Editor  of  TJie  Age,  Charles  Molloy  Westmacott,  comely,  black-whiskered,  loosely- 
attired,  seated  slouchingly  with  a  sort  of  rakish,  sporting  air  about  him,  his  hat  upon  the 
floor  with  a  long-lashed  whip  trailing  out  of  it,  his  foot,  like  a  true  critic's,  brought  down 
heavily  on  a  book  or  two.  As  a  grand  choral  finish  to  this  second  of  the  Prout  Papers, 
came  Mahony's  memorable  polj'glot  version  of  the  "  Groves  of  Blarney,"  in  which, 
upon  confronting  pages,  appeared  cheek-by-jowl  the  English  and  French  as  contrasted 
with  the  Greek  and  Latin.  Twenty-three  years  after  the  issuing  from  the  press  of  the 
original  edition  of  the  "  Relique^,"  yet  another  version — in  Italian — was  put  forth  by 
Mahony  as  purporting  to  have  been  sung  in  bivouac  among  the  woods  near  Lake  Como, 
on  the  25th  of  iVIay,  1859,  by  the  Condottiere  Giuseppe  Garibaldi ;  the  title  of  this  supple- 
mentary companion  to  the  Doric,  Vulgate,  and  Gallic  translations,  so  long  before  produced, 
being  "I  Boschi  di  Blarnea."  Immediately  appended  to  the  fragment  of  the  Celtic 
manuscript  reputed  to  have  been  obtained  from  the  Royal  Library  at  Copenhagen, 
appeared  by  way  of  tailpiece  to  this  paper,  in  the  edition  of  1836,  ^laclise's  wonderfully 
comic  yet  lifelike  sketch  of  Sir  Walter  when  he  had  just  said,  "So  here  I  kiss  the 
stone."] 


ijeware,  oeware 
Of  the  black  friar, 
Vv'ho  sitteth  by  Norman  stone  : 
•>  For  he  mutters  his  prayer 

In  the  midnight  air. 
And  his  mass  of  the  days  that  are  gone." 

BVRON'. 

Since  the  publication  of  this  worthy  man's  "  Apology  for  Lent,"  which,  with 
some  account  of  his  lamented  death  and  well-attended  funeral,  appeared  in  our 
last  Number,  we  have  written  to  his  executors — (one  of  whom  is  P'ather  Mat. 
Horrogan,  P.P.  of  the  neighbouring  village  of  Blarney;  and  the  other,  our 
elegiac  poet,  Father  Magrath)— in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  negotiate  for  the 
valuable  posthumous  essays  and  fugitive  pieces  which  we  doubted  not  had  been 
left  behind  in  great  abundance  by  the  deceased.  These  two  disinterested 
divines— fit  associates  and  bosom-companions  of  Prout  during  his  lifetime,  and 
whon>,  from  their  joint  letters,  we  should  think  eminently  qualified  to  pick  up 
the  fallen  mantle  of  the  departed  prophet — have,  in  the  most  handsome  manner, 
promised  us  all  the  literary  and  pliilosophic  treatises  bequeathed  to  them  by 
the  late  incumbent  of  Watergrasshill  ;  expressing,  in  the  very  complimentary 
note  which  they  have  transmitted  us.  and  which  our  modesty  prevents  us  from 
inserting,  their  thanks  and  that  of  the  whole  parish,  for  our  sympathy  and 
condolence  on  this  melancholy  bereavement,  and  intimating  at  the  same  time 


A  Pica  for  Pilgriviages.  19 


their  regret  at  not  being  able  to  send  us  also,  for  our  private  perusal,  the  collec- 
von  of  the  good  father's  parochial  sermons  ;  the  whole  of  which  (a  most 
-.luable  MS.  I  had  been  taken  off  for  his  o\\"n  use  by  the  bishop,  whom  he  had 
.-ide  his  residuan.-  legatee.  These  "  sermons"  must  be  doubtless  good  things 
in  their  ^\ay — a  theological /isya  dauAia — well  adapted  to  swell  the  episcopal 
library  ;  but  as  we  confessedly  are,  and  suspect  our  readers  likewise  to  be,  a 
ver\-  improper  multitude  amongst  whom  to  statter  such  pearls,  we  shall  console 
ourselves  for  that  sacrifice  by  plunging  head  and  ears  into  the  abundant  sources 
of  intellectual  refreshment  to  which  we  shall  soon  have  access,  and  from  which 
Frank  Cress  well,  lucky  dog  I  has  drawn  such  a  draught  of  inspiration. 

"  Sacros  ausus  recludere  fontes  I " 

for  assuredly  we  may  defy  any  one  that  has  perused  Prout's  \'indication  of  fish- 
diet  (and  li'ho,  we  ask,  has  not  read  it  con.  amore,  conning  it  over  with  secret 
glee,  and  forthwith  caUing  out  for  a  red  herring?),  not  to  prefer  its  simple 
unsophisticated  eloquence  to  the  oration  of  TxiWy  pro  Domo  suo,  or  Barclay's 
"Apology  for  Quakers."  After  all,  it  may  have  been  but  a  sprat  to  catch  a 
whale,  and  the  whole  affair  may  turn  out  to  be  a  Popish  contrivance  ;  but  if  so, 
we  have  taken  the  bait  ourselves:  we  have  been,  like  Festus,  "almost  per- 
suaded," and  Prout  has  wrought  in  us  a  sort  of  cuhnary  conversion.  \\'hy  should 
we  be  ashamed  to  avow  that  we  have  been  edified  by  the  good  man  s  blunt 
and  straightforward  logic,  and  drawn  from  his  theories  on  fish  a  higher  and 
more  moral  impression  than  from  the  dreamy  visions  of  an  "  English  Opium- 
eater,"  or  any  other  "Confessions"  of  sensualism  and  gastronomy.  If  ihis 
"black  friar"  has  got  smuggled  in  among  our  contributors,  like  King  Saul 
among  the  regular  votaries  of  the  sanctuary,  it  must  be  admitted  that,  hke  the 
royal  intruder,  he  has  caught  the  tone  and  chimed  in  with  the  general  harmony 
of '  our  pohtical  opinions — no  Whighng  among  true  Tories,  no  goose  among 
swans.     Argutos  inter  strepere  anser  olorcs. 

How  we  long  to  get  possession  of  "  the  Prout  Papers  !  "  that  chest  of  learned 
lumber  which  haunts  our  nightly  visions  !  Already,  in  imagination,  it  is  within 
our  grasp  ;  our  greedy  hand  hastily  its  lid 

"  Unlocks, 
And  all  Arcadia  breathes  from  j^onder  box  I " 

In  this  prolific  age,  when  the  most  unlettered  dolt  can  find  a  mare's  nest  in  the 
domain  of  philosophy,  why  should  not  we  also  zx\,  Eup»i\-au£z/ !  How  much 
of  novelty  in  his  views  !  how  much  embr\'o  discovery  must  not  Prout  unfold  ! 
It  were  indeed  a  pity  to  consign  the  writings  of  so  eminent  a  scholar  to 
oblivion  :  nor  ought  it  be  said,  in  scriptural  phrase,  of  him,  what  is,  alas  ! 
applicable  to  so  many  other  learned  divines  when  they  are  dead,  that  "  their 
works  have  followed  them."  Such  was  the  case  of  that  laborious  French 
clergyman,  the  Abbe  Trublet,  of  whom  \'oltaire  profanely  sings  : 

'■'  L'Abbe  Trublet  ecrit,  le  Lethe  sur  ses  rives 
Reijoi:  avec  plaisir  ses  feuilles  fugitives  I  " 

WTiich  epigram  hath  a  recondite  meaning,  not  obvious  to  the  reader  on  a  first 
perusal  ;  and  being  interpreted  mto  plain  English,  for  the  use  of  the  London 
University,  it  may  ran  thus  : 

'■'  Lardner  compiles — kind  Lethe  on  her  banks 
Receives  the  doctor's  useful  page  with  thanks." 

Such  may  be  the  fate  of  Lardner  and  of  Trub'et,  such  the  ultimate  destiny 
that  awaits  their  literarj'  labours;  but  neither  men,  nor  gods,  nor  our  columns 
(those  graceful  pillars  that  support  the  Muses'  temple  i,  shall  suffer  this  old 
priest  to  remain  in  the  unmerited  obscurity  from  which  Frank  Cresswell  first 
essaved  to  draw  him.     l"o  that  voung  barrister  we  have  wTitten,  with  a  request 


20  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


that  he  would  furnish  us  with  further  details  concerning  Prout,  and,  if  possible, 
a  few  additional  specimens  of  his  colloquial  wisdom  ;  reminding  him  that 
modern  taste  has  a  decided  tendency  towards  illustrious  private  gossip,  and 
recommending  to  him,  as  a  sublime  model  of  the  dramatico-biographic  style, 
my  Ladv  Blessington's  "Conversations  of  Lord  Byron."  How  far  he  has 
succeeded  in  following  the  ;V///j/7/'////.f  of  her  ladyship's  lantern,  and  how  many 
bogs  he  has  got  immerged  in  because  of  the  dangerous  hint,  \Vhich  we  gave 
him  in  an  evil  hour,  the  judicious  reader  will  soon  find  out.  Here  is  the  com- 
munication. 

OLIVER   YORKE. 
I.Iay  I,  1834. 


Furiiiz'al's  lint,  April  14. 

ArKXOWLEDGlXG  the  receipt  of  your  gracious  mandate,  O  Queen  of  Peri- 
odicals !  and  kissing  the  top  of  your  ivory  sceptre,  may  I  be  allowed  to  express 
unblamed  my  utter  devotion  to  your  orders,  in  the  language  of  .'Eolus,  quondam 
ruler  of  the  winds  : 

"Tuus,  O  Regina,  quid  optes 

Explorare  labor,  mihi  jussa  capessere  fas  est  ! " 

without  concealing,  at  the  same  time,  my  wonderment,  and  that  of  many  other 
sober  individuals,  at  your  patronizing  the  advocacy  of  doctrines  and  usages 
belonging  exclusively  to  another  and  far  less  reputable  Queen  (quean  ?)  whom 
I  shall  have  sufficiently  designated  when  I  mention  that  she  sits  upon  seven 
hills  .'—\w  stating  which  singular  phenomenon  concerning  her,  I  need  not  add 
that  her  fundamental  maxims  must  be  totally  different  from  yours.  Many 
orthodox  people  cannot  understand  how  you  could  have  reconciled  it  to  your 
conscience  to  publish,  in  its  crude  state,  that  Apology  for  Lent,  vithout  adding 
note  or  comment  in  refutation  of  such  dangerous  doctrines;  and  are  still  more 
amazed  that  a  Popish  parish  priest,  from  the  wild  Irish  hills,  could  have  got 
among  your  contributors — 

"Claimed  kindred  there,  and  have  that  claim  allowed." 

It  will,  however,  no  doubt,  give  you  pleasure  to  learn,  that  you  have  established 
a  lasting  popularity  among  that  learned  set  of  men  the  fishmongers,  who  are 
never  scaly  of  their  support  when  deserved  ;  for,  by  a  unanimous  vote  of  the 
"worshipful  company"  last  meeting-day,  the  marble  bust  of  Father  Prout, 
crowned  with  sea-weeds  like  a  Triton,  is  to  be  placed  in  a  conspicuous  part  of 
their  new  hall  at  London  Bridge.  But  as  it  is  the  hardest  thing  imaginable  to 
please  all  parties,  your  triumph  is  rendered  incomplete  by  the  grumbling  of 
another  not  less  respectable  portion  of  the  community.  By  your  proposal  for 
the  non-consumption  of  butciiers'  meat,  you  have  given  mortal  offence  to  the 
dealers  in  horned  cattle,  and  stirred  up  a  nest  of  hornets  in  Smithfield.  In 
your  perambulations  of  the  metropolis,  go  not  into  the  bucolic  purlieus  of  that 
dangerous  district;  beware  of  the  enemy's  camp;  tempt  not  the  ire  of  men 
armed  with  cold  steel,  else  the  long-dormant  fires  of  that  land  celebrated  in 
every  age  as  a  ticrra  del  fuego  may  be  yet  rekindled,  and  made  "  red  with- 
uncommon  wrath,"  for  your  especial  roasting.  Lord  Althorp  is  no  warm  friend 
of  yours;  and  by  your  making  what  he  calls  "  a  most  unprovoked  attack  on 
the  graziers,  "  you  have  not  propitiated  the  winner  of  the  prize  o.x. 

"  Foenumhabet  in  cornu,  — hunc  tu,  Komane,  caveto  !" 

In  vain  would  you  seek  to  cajole  the  worthy  chancellor  of  his  Majesty's 
unfortunate  exchequer,  by  the  desirable  prospect  of  a  net  revenue  from  the 
ocean:  you  will  make  no  impression.     His  mind  is  not  accessible  to  any  reason- 


A  Plea  for  Pilgrimages.  2i 


ing  on  that  subject;  and,  like  the  shield  of  Telamon,  it  is  WTapt  in  the  impene- 
trable folds  of  seven  tough  bull-hides. 

But  eliminating  at  once  these  insignificant  topics,  and  setting  aside  all  minor 
things,  let  me  address  myself  to  the  grand  subject  of  my  adoption.  Verily, 
since  the  days  of  that  ornament  of  the  priesthood,  and  pride  of  Venice, 
Father  Paul,  no  divine  has  shed  such  lustre  on  the  Church  of  Rome  as 
Father  Prout.  His  brain  was  a  storehouse  of  inexhaustible  knowledge,  and 
his  memory  a  bazaar,  in  which  the  intellectual  riches  of  past  ages  were 
classified  and  arranged  in  marvellous  and  briUiant  assortment.  When,  by  the 
liberahty  of  his  executor,  you  shall  have  been  put  in  possession  of  his  writings 
and  posthumous  papers,  you  will  find  I  do  not  exaggerate  ;  for  though  his 
mere  conversation  was  always  instructive,  still,  the  pen  in  his  hand,  more 
potent  than  the  wand  of  Prospero,  embelUshed  es'en.-  subject  with  an  aerial 
charm  ;  and  whatever  department  of  literature  it  touched  on,  it  was  sure  to 
illuminate  and  adorn,  from  the  lightest  and  most  ephemeral  matters  of  the  day, 
to  the  deepest  and  most  abstruse  problems  of  metaphysical  inquiry  ;  \igorous 
and  philosophical,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  minute  and  playful ;  having  no 
parallel  unless  we  liken  it  to  the  proboscis  of  an  elephant,  that  can  with  equal 
ease  shift  an  obelisk  and  crack  a  nut. 

Xor  did  he  confine  himself  to  prose.  He  was  a  chosen  favourite  of  the 
nine  sisters,  and  flirted  openly  with  them  all,  his  vow  of  celibacy  preventing 
his  forming  a  permanent  alUance  with  one  alone.  Hence  pastoral  poetry, 
elegy,  sonnets,  and  still  grander  effusions  in  the  best  style  of  Bob  Montgomery, 
flowed  from  his  muse  in  abundance ;  but,  I  must  confess,  his  peculiar  forte 
lay  in  the  Pindaric.  Besides,  he  indulged  copiously  in  Greek  and  Latin  versi- 
fication, as  well  as  in  French,  Italian,  and  High  Dutch;  of  which  accomphsh- 
ments  I  happen  to  possess  some  fine  specimens  from  his  pen  ;  and  before  I 
terminate  this  paper,  I  mean  to  introduce  them  to  the  benevolent  notice  of  the 
candid  reader.  By  these  you  will  find,  that  the  Doric  reed  of  Theocritus  was 
to  him  but  an  ordinary  sylvan  pipe— that  the  lyre  of  Anacreon  was  as  familiar 
to  him  as  the  German  flute— and  that  he  played  as  well  on  the  classic  chords 
of  the  bard  of  Mantua  as  on  the  Cremona  fiddle  :  at  all  events,  he  will  prove 
far  superior  as  a  poet  to  the  covey  of  unfledged  rhymers  who  nestle  in  annuals 
and  magazines.  Sad  abortions'!  on  which  even  you,  O  Queen,  sometimes 
take  compassion,  infusing  into  them  a  life 

"  \\Tiich  did  not  j'ou  prolong. 
The  world  had  wanted  many  an  idle  song. " 

To  return  to  his  conversational  powers  :  he  did  not  waste  them  on  the  gene- 
laUtv  of  folks,  for  he  despised  the  vulgar  herd  of  Corkonians  with  whom  it 
was 'his  lot  to  mingle  ;  but  when  he  was  sure  of  a  friendly  circle,  he  broke  out 
in  resplendent  stvle,  often  humorous,  at  times  critical,  occasionally  profound, 
and  alwavs  interesting.  Inexhaustible  in  his  means  of  illustration,  his  fancy- 
was  an  un'wasted  mine,  into  which  you  had  but  to  sink  a  shaft,  and  you  were 
sure  of  eliciting  the  finest  ore,  which  came  forth  stamped  with  the  impress  of 
genius,  and  fit  "to  circulate  among  the  most  cultivated  auditory  :  for  though  the 
mint  of  his  brain  now  and  then  would  issue  a  strange  and  fantastic  coinage, 
sterling  sense  was  sure  to  give  it  value,  and  ready  wit  to  promote  its  currency. 
The  rubbish  and  dust  of  the  schools  with  which  his  notions  were  sometimes 
incmsted  did  not  alter  their  intrinsic  worth;  people  only  wondered  how  the 
diaphanous  mind  of  Prout  could  be  obscured  by  such  common  stuff" :  its 
brightness  was  still  undiminished  by  the  admixture  ;  and  like  straws  in  amber, 
without  deteriorating  the  substan'ce,  these  matters  only  made  manifest  its 
transparency.  Whenever  he  undertook  to  illustrate  any  subject  worthy  of  him 
he  was  alwavs  felicitous.     I  shall  give  you  an  instance. 

There  stands  on  the  borders  of" his  'parish,  near  the  village  of  Blarney,  an 


22  The  Works  of  Fathc7'  Front. 

old  castle  of  the  M  'Carthy  family,  rising  abruptly  from  a  bold  cliff,  at  the  foot  ( 
of  which  rolls  a  not  inconsiderable  stream — the  fond  and  frequent  witness  of 
Prout's  angling  propensities.  The  well-wooded  demesne,  comprising  an 
extensive  lake,  a  romantic  cavern,  and  an  artificial  wilderness  of  rocks,  belongs 
to  the  family  of  Jeffereys,  which  boasts  in  the  Dowager  Countess  Glengall  a 
most  distinguished  scion  ;  her  ladyship's  mother  having  been  imm.ortalized 
under  the  title  of  "  Lady  Jeffers,"  with  the  other  natural  curiosities  produced 
by  this  celebrated  spot,  in  that  never-sufficiently-to-be-encored  song,  the 
iiroves  of  Blarijcy.  But  neither  the  stream,  nor  the  lake,  nor  the  castle,  nor 
the  village  (a  sad  ruin  !  which,  but  for  the  recent  establishment  of  a  spinning 
factory  by  some  patriotic  Corkonian,  would  be  swept  away  altogether,  or 
possessed  by  the  owls  as  a  grant  from  Sultan  ^lahmoud)  ; — none  of  these 
picturesque  objects  has  earned  such  notoriety  for  "the  Groves"  as  a  certain 
stone,  of  a  basaltic  kind,  rather  unusual  in  the  district,  placed  on  the  pinnacle 
of  the  main  tower,  and  endowed  with  the  property  of  communicating  to  the 
happy  tongue  that  comes  in  contact  with  its  polished  surface  the  gift  of  gentle, 
insinuating  speech,  with  soft  talk  in  all  its  ramifications,  whether  employed  in 
vows  and  promises  light  as  air,  t-nta  irTspoavra,  such  as  lead  captive  the  female 
heart ;  or  elaborate  mystification  of  a  grosser  grain,  such  as  may  do  for  the 
House  of  Commons  ;  all  summed  up  and  characterized  by  the  mysterious  term 
Blarney.* 

Prout's  theory  on  this  subject  might  have  remained  dormant  for  ages,  and 
perhaps  been  ultimately  lost  to  the  world  at  large,  were  it  not  for  an  event 
which  occurred  in  the  summer  of  1825,  while  I  (a  younker  then)  happened  to 
be  on  that  visit  to  my  aunt  at  \\'atergrasshill  which  eventually  secured  me  her 
inheritance.  The  occurrence  I  am  about  to  commemorate  was,  in  truth,  one 
of  the  first  magnitude,  and  well  calculated,  from  its  importance,  to  form  an 
epoch  in  the  .Annals  of  the  Parish.  It  was  the  arrival  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 
at  Blarney,  towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  July. 

Nine  years  have  now  rolled  away,  and  the  "  Ariosto  of  the  North  "  is  dead, 
and  our  ancient  constitution  has  since  fallen  under  the  hoofs  of  the  Whigs ; 
quenched  is  many  a  beacon-light  in  church  and  state — Prout  himself  is  no 
more;  and  plentiful  indications  tell  us  we  are  come  upon  evil  days:  but  still 
may  I  be  allowed  to  feel  a  pleasurable,  though  somewhat  saddened  emotion, 
while  I  revert  to  that  intellectual  meeting,  and  bid  memory  go  back  in  "dream 
sublime"  to  the  glorious  exhibition  of  Prout's  mental  powers.  It  was,  in 
sooth,  a  great  day  for  old  Ireland  ;  a  greater  still  for  Blarney  ;  but,  greatest  of 
all,  it  dawned,  Prout,  on  thee  !  Then  it  was  that  thy  light  was  taken  from 
under  its  sacerdotal  bushel,  and  placed  conspicuously  before  a  man  fit  to 
appreciate  the  effulgence  of  so  brilliant  a  luminary — a  light  which  I,  who  pen 
these  words  in  sorrow,  alas  !  shall  never  gaze  on  more— a  light 

"  That  ne'er  sh.ill  shine  again 
On  Blarney's  stream  !" 

That  day  it  illumined  the   "  cave,"  the  "  shady  walks,"  and  the  "sweet  rock- 
close,"  and  sent  its  gladdening  beam  into  the  gloomiest  vaults  of  the  ancient 

•  To  Crofton  Croker  belongs  the  merit  of  elucidating  this  obscure  tradition.  It  appears 
tliat  in  1602,  when  tlie  .Spaniards  were  exciting  our  chieftains  to  h.irass  the  English 
authorities,  Cormac  M'Dermot  Carthy  held,  among  other  dependencies,  the  castle  of 
lllarney,  and  had  concluded  an  armistice  with  the  Lord-president,  on  condition  of  sur- 
rendering this  fort  to  an  English  garrison.  Day  after  day  did  his  lordship  look  for  the 
fulfilment  of  the  compact;  while  the  Irish  Pozzo  di  Horgo,  as  loath  to  part  with  his 
stronghold  as  Russia  to  relinquish  the  Dardanelles,  kept  protocolizing  with  soft  promises 
and  delusive  delays,  until  at  last  Carew  became  the  laughing-stock  of  Elipbeth's  minis- 
ters, and  ''Blarney  talk  "  proverbial.  [It  is  a  singtdar  coincidence,  that  while  Crofton  was 
engat^ed  in  tracing  the  origin  of  this  Irish  term,  D'Isr.aeli  was  equally  well  employed  in 
cvolvmg  the  pedigree  of  the  English  word  "  Fudge. "J 


A  Plea  for  Pilgrimages. 


fort ;  for  all  the  recondite  recesses  of  the  castle  were  explored  in  succession  by 
the  distinguished  poet  and  the  learned  priest,  and  Prout  held  a  candle  to 
Scott. 

W'q  read  with  interest,  in  the  historian  Polybius,  the  account  of  Hannibal's 
interview  with  Scipio  on  the  plains  of  Zama ;  and  often  have  we,  in  our  school- 
boy davs  of  unsophisticated  feeling,  sympathized  with  Ovid,  when  he  told  us 
that  he'  only  got  a  glimpse  of  Virgil  ;  but  Scott  basked  for  a  whole  summer's 
day  in  the  blaze  of  Prout's  wit,  and  witnessed  the  coruscations  of  his  learning. 
The  great  Marius  is  said  never  to  have  appeared  to  such  advantage  as  when 
seated  on  the  ruins  of  Carthage  :  with  equal  dignity  Prout  sat  on  the  Blarney 
stone,  amid  ruins  of  kindred  glory.  Zeno  taught  in  the  "porch;"  Plato 
loved  to  muse  alone  on  the  bold  jutting  promontory  of  Cape  Sunium;  Socra- 
tes, bent  on  finding  Truth,  "  ?«  sylvis  Academi  qiccErerc  vcrum,"  sought  her 
among  the  bowers  of  Academus;  Prout  courted  the  same  coy  nymph,  and 
wooed  her  in  the  "  groves  of  Blarney." 

I  said  that  it  was  in  the  summer  of  1825  that  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  the  pro- 
gress of  his  tour  through  Ireland,  reached  Cork,  and  forthwith  intimated  his 
wish  to  proceed  at  once  on  a  visit  to  Blarney  Castle.  For  him  the  noble  river, 
the  magnificent  estuary,  and  unrivalled  harbour  of  a  city  that  proudly  bears  on 
her  civic  escutcheon  the  well-applied  motto,  ''  Statio  bene  fid.i  carinis,"  had 
but  little  attraction  when  placed  in  competition  with  a  spot  sacred  to  the 
Muses,  and  wedded  to  immortal  verse.  Such  was  the  interest  which  its 
connection  with  the  popular  literature  and  traditionary  stories  of  the  country 
had  excited  in  that  master-mind — such  the  predominance  of  its  local 
reminiscences — such  the  transcendent  influence  of  song  !  For  this  did  the 
then  "Great  Unknown"  wend  his  way  through  the  purlieus  of  "Golden 
Spur,"  traversing  the  great  manufacturing  fauxbourg  of  "Black  Pool,"  and 
emerging  by  the  "  Red  Forge  ;  "  so  intent  on  the  classic  object  of  his  pursuit, 
as  to  disregard  the  unpromising  aspect  of  the  vestibule  by  which  alone  it  is 
approachable.  Many  are  the  splendid  mansions  and  hospitable  halls  that  stud 
the  suburbs  of  the  "  beautiful  city,"  each  boasting  its  grassy  lawn  and  placid 
lake,  each  decked  with  park  and  woodland,  and  each  well  furnished  with  that 
paramount  appendage,  a  batterie  de  cuisine  ;  but  all  these  castles  were  passed 
unheeded  by,  carent  quia  vate  sacro.  Gorgeous  residences,  picturesque  seats, 
magnificent'  villas,  they  be,  no  doubt ;  but  unknown  to  hterature,  in  vain  do 
they  plume  themselves  on  their  architectural  beauty ;  in  vain  do  they  spread 
wide  their  well-proportioned  ii}ings—\\\.QS  cannot  soar  aloft  to  the  regions  of 
celebrity. 

On  the  eve  of  that  memorable  day  I  was  sitting  on  a  stool  in  the  priest's 
parlour,  poking  the  turf  fire,  while  Prout,  who  had  been  angling  all  day,  sat 
nodding  over  his  "  brevtary,"  and,  according  to  my  calculation,  ought  to  be 
at  the  last  psalm  of  vespers,  when  a  loud  official  knock,  not  usual  on  thatbleiik 
hill,  bespoke  the  presence  of  no  ordinary  personage.  Accordingly,  the 
"wicket,  opening  with  a  latch,"  ushered  in  a  messenger  clad  in  the  livery  of 
the  ancient  and  loyal  corporation  of  Cork,  who  announced  himself  as  the 
bearer  of  a  despatch  from  the  mansion-house  to  his  reverence;  and,  handing 
it  with  that  deferential  awe  which  even  his  masters  felt  for  the  incumbent  of 
Watergrasshill,  immediately  withdrew.     The  letter  ran  thus  : — 

Coimcil  Chamber,  Jiily  24,  1S25. 

Very  Reverend  Doctor  Prout, 

Cork  harbours  within  its  walls  the  illustrious  author  of  Wayerley.  On 
recei\'ing  the  freedom  of  our  ancient  city,  which  we  presented  to  him  (as  usual 
towards  distinguished  strangers)  in  a  box  car\-ed  out  of  a  chip  of  the  Blarney 
stone,  he  expressed  his  determination  to  visit  the  old  block  itself.  As  he  will, 
therefore,  be  in  your  neighbourhood  to-morrow,  and  as  no  one  is  better  able  to 


24  The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 

do  the  honours  than  you  (our  burgesses  being  sadly  deficient  in  learning,  as  you 
and  I  well  know),  your  attendance  on  the  celebrated  poet  is  requested  by  your 
old  friend  and  foster-brother, 

George  Knapp,*  il/(z;vr. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  beam  of  triumph  that  lit  up  the  old  man's  features  on 
the  perusal  of  Knapp's  pithy  summons  ;  and  right  warmly  did  he  respond  to 
my  congratulations  on  the  prospect  of  thus  coming  in  contact  with  so  dis- 
tinguished an  author.  "  You  are  right,  child  !  "  said  he;  and  as  I  perceived 
by  his  manner  that  he  was  about  to  enter  on  one  of  those  rambling  trains 
of  thought — half-homily,  half-soliloquy— in  which  he  was  wont  to  indulge,  I 
settled  myself  by  the  fireplace,  and  prepared  to  go  through  my  accustomed 
part  of  an  attentive  listener. 

"A  great  man,  Frank  !  A  truly  great  man  !  No  token  of  ancient  days 
escapes  his  eagle  glance,  no  venerable  memorial  of  former  times  his  observant 
scrutiny;  and  still,  even  he,  versed  as  he  is  in  the  monumentary  remains  of  by- 
gone ages,  may  yet  learn  something  more,  and  have  no  cause  to  regret  his  visit 
to  Blarney.  Yes  !  since  our  '  groves '  are  to  be  honoured  by  thapresence  of  the 
learned  baronet, 

'  Sylvae  sint  consule  dignse  ! ' 

let  us  make  them  deserving  of  his  attention.  He  shall  fix  his  antiquarian  eye 
and  rivet  his  wondering  gaze  on  the  rude  basaltic  mass  that  crowns  the  battle- 
ments of  the  main  tower  ;  for  though  he  may  have  seen  the  '  chair  at  Scone," 
where  the  Caledonian  kings  were  crowned  ;  though  he  may  have  examined  that 
Scotch  pebble  in  Westminster  Abbey,  which  the  Cockneys,  in  the  exercise  of  a 
delightful  credulity,  believe  to  be  'Jacob's  pillow  ;'  though  he  may  have 
visited  the  misshapen  pillars  on  Salisbury  plain,  and  the  Rock  of  Cashel,  and 
the  '  Hag's  Bed,'  and  St.  Kevin's  petrified  matelas  at  Glendalough,  and  many 
a  cromlech  of  Druidical  celebrity, — there  is  a  stone  yet  unexplored,  which  he 
shall  contemplate  to-morrow,  and  place  on  record  among  his  most  profitable 
days  that  on  which  he  shall  have  paid  it  homage  : 

'  Hunc,  Macrine,  diem  numera meliore  lapillo  !* 

"  I  am  old,  Frank.  In  my  wild  youth  I  have  seen  many  of  the  celebrated 
writers  that  adorned  the  decline  of  the  last  centun,',  and  shed  a  lustre  over 
France,  too  soon  eclipsed  in  blood  at  its  sanguinary  close.     I  have  conversed 

*  The  republic  of  letters  has  great  reason  to  complain  of  Dr.  Maginn,  for  his  non- 
fulfilment  of  a  positive  pledge  to  publish  "a  great  historical  work"  on  the  Mayor  of 
Cork.  Owing  to  this  desideratum  in  the  annals  of  the  Empire,  I  am  compelled  to  bring 
into  notice  thus  abruptly  the  most  respectable  civic  worthy  that  has  worn  the  cocked  hat 
and  chain  since  the  days  of  John  Walters,  who  boldly  proclaimed  Perkin  Warbeck,  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  in  the  market-place  of  that  beautiful  city.  Knapp's  virtues 
and  talents  did  not,  like  those  of  Donna  Ines,  deserve  to  be  called 

"  Classic  all, 
Nor  lay  they  chiefly  in  the  mathematical," 

for  his  favourite  pursuit  during  the  canicule  of  1825,  was  the  extermination  of  mad  dogs; 
and  so  vigorously  did  lie  urge  the  carnage  during  the  summer  of  his  mayoralty,  that 
some  thought  he  wished  to  eclipse  the  exploit  of  .St.  Patrick  in  destroying  the  breed  alto- 
gether, as  the  saint  did  that  of  toads.  A  Cork  poet,  the  hiureate  of  the  mansion-house, 
has  celebrated  Kn.ipp's  prowess  in  a  didactic  composition,  entitled  "  Dog-Killing,  a 
I'oem  ;"  in  which  the  mayor  is  likened  toApullo  in  the  Grecian  camp  before  Troy,  in  the 
opening  of  the  "  Iliad  :  " — 

h.VTa.p  /3ou?  irpcoTOi'  t</»'  w»ceTO  ko.\.  Kvva.%  Apyov?. 

[P.ut  as  you  may  think  it  all  mere  doggrcl,  I  shall  omit  to  quote  from  it,  though  it  might 
edify  many  a  magisterial  Dogberry,  and  prove  a  real  mayor's  nest.  — F.  CKiisswKLi..] 


A  Plea  for  Pilgrimages.  2  5 

with  Buffon  and  with  Fontenelle,  and  held  intercourse  with  Nature's  simplest 
child,  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,  author  of  '  Paul  and  Virginia ; '  Gresset  and 
Marmontel  were  my  college-friends ;  and  to  me,  though  a  frequenter  of  the 
halls  of  Sorbonne,  the  octogenaire  of  Ferney  was  not  unknown  :  nor  was  I  un- 
acquainted with  the  recluse  of  Ermenonville.  But  what  are  the  souvenirs  of  a 
single  period,  however  brilliant  and  interesting,  to  the  recollections  of  full  seven 
centuries  of  historic  glory,  all  condensed  and  concentrated  in  Scott?  What  a 
host  of  personages  does  his  name  conjure  up  !  what  mighty  shades  mingle  in 
the  throng  of  attendant  heroes  that  wait  his  bidding,  and  form  his  appropriate 
retinue  !  Cromwell,  Claverhouse,  and  Montrose ,  Saladin,  Front  de  Bo^uf,  and 
Coeur  de  Lion ;  Rob  Roy,  Robin  Hood,  and  Marmion ;  those  who  fell  at 
CuUoden  and  Flodden  Field,  and  those  who  won  the  day  at  Bannockburn, — 
all  start  up  at  the  presence  of  the  Enchanter.  I  speak  not  of  his  female  forms 
of  surpassing  loveliness — his  Flora  M'lvor,  his  Rebecca,  his  Amy  Robsart  : 
these  you,  Frank,  can  best  admire.  But  I  know  not  how  I  shall  divest  myself 
of  a  secret  awe  when  the  wizard,  with  all  his  spells,  shall  rise  before  me.  The 
presence  of  my  old  foster-brother,  George  Knapp,  will  doubtless  tend  to  dis- 
sipate the  illusion  ;  but  if  so  it  will  be  by  personifying  the  Bailie  Xicol  Jarvie 
of  Glasgow,  his  worthy  prototype.  Nor  are  Scott's  merits  those  simply  of  a 
pleasing  novelist  or  a  spirit-stirring  poet  ;  his  '  Life  of  Dryden,'  his  valuable 
commentaries  on  Swift,  his  researches  in  the  dark  domain  of  demonology,  his 
biography  of  Napoleon,  and  the  sterling  views  of  European  policy  developed 
in  'Paul's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk,'  all  contribute  to  enhance  his  literary  pre- 
eminence. Rightly  has  Silius  Italicus  depicted  the  Carthaginian  hero,  sur- 
rounded even  in  solitude  by  a  thousand  recollections  of  well-earned  renown  — 

'  Xec  credis  inermem 
Quern  mihi  tot  cinxere  duces  :  si  admoveris  ora, 
Cannas  et  Trebiam  ante  oculos,  Romanaque  busta, 
Et  Pmili  stare  ingentem  miraberis  umbram  ! ' 

Yet,  greatly  and  desen-edly  as  he  is  prized  by  his  contemporaries,  future  ages 
will  value  him  even  more ;  and  his  laurel,  ever  extending  its  branches,  and 
growing  in  secret  like  the  '  fame  of  Marcellus,'  will  overshadow  the  earth.  Pos- 
terity will  canonize  his  every  reUc;  and  his  footsteps,  even  in  this  remote  district, 
will  be  one  day  traced  and  sought  for  by  the  admirers  of  genius.  For,  not- 
withstanding the  breadth  and  brilliancy  of  effect  with  which  he  waved  the  torch 
of  mind  while  hving,  far  purer  and  more  serene  will  be  the  lamp  that  shall 
glimmer  in  his  tomb  and  keep  vigil  over  his  hallowed  ashes  :  to  that  fount  of 
inspiration  other  and  minor  spirits,  eager  to  career  through  the  same  orbit  of 
glory,  will  recur,  and 

'  In  their  golden  urns  draw  light.' 

Nor  do  I  merely  look  on  him  as  a  writer  who,  by  the  blandishment  of  his  narra- 
tive and  the  witchery  of  his  style,  has  calmed  more  sorrow,  and  caused  more 
happy  hours  to  flow,  than  any  save  a  higher  and  a  hoher  page— a  wnter  w  ho, 
like  the  autumnal  meteor  of  his  own  North,  has  illumined  the  dull  horizon  of 
these  latter  days  with  a  fancy  ever  varied  and  radiant  with  joyfulness— onewho, 
for  useful  purposes,  has  interwoven  the  plain  warp  of  history  with  the  many- 
coloured  web  of  his  own  romantic  loom; — but  further  do  I  hail  in  him  the 
genius  who  has  rendered  good  and  true  service  to  the  cause  of  mankind,  by 
dri\ing  forth  from  the  temple  of  Religion,  with  sarcasms  knotted  lash,  that 
canting  puritanic  tribe  who  would  obhterate  from  the  book  of  life  every  earthly 
enjoyment,  and  change  all  its  paths  of  peace  into  walks  of  bitterness.  I  honour 
him  for  his  efforts  to  demolish  the  pestilent  influence  of  a  sour  and  sulky  system 
that  would  interpose  itself  between  the  gospel  sun  and  the  world — that  retains 
no  heat,  imbibes  no  light,  and  transmits  none ;  but  flings  its  broad,  cold,  and 
disastrous  shadow  over  the  land  that  is  cursed  with  its  visitation. 

D 


26  TJie  Woi'ks  of  FatJier  Proiit. 

' '  The  excrescences  and  superfoetations  of  my  own  church  most  freely  do  I 
yield  up  to  his  censure  ;  for  while  in  his  Abbot  Boniface,  his  PYiar  Tuck,  and 
his  intriguing  Rashleigh,  he  has  justly  stigmatized  monastic  laziness,  and  de- 
nounced ultramontane  duplicity,  he  has  not  forgotten  to  exhibit  the  bright 
reverse  of  the  Roman  medal,  but  has  done  full  measure  of  justice  to  the  nobler 
inspirations  of  our  creed,  bodied  forth  in  Mary  Stuart,  Hugo  de  Lacy,  Cathe- 
rine Seaton,  Die  Vernon,  and  Rose  de  Beranger.  Nay,  even  in  his  fictions  of 
cloistered  life,  among  the  drones  of  that  i:;noble  crowd,  he  has  drawn  minds  of 
another  sphere,  and  spirits  whose  ingenuous  nature  and  piety  unfeigned  were 
not  worthy  of  this  world's  deceitful  intercourse,  but  fitted  them  to  commune  in 
solitude  with  Heaven. 

"Such  are  the  impressions,  and  such  the  mood  of  mind  in  which  I  shall 
accost  the  illustrious  visitor;  and  you,  Frank,  shall  accompany  me  on  this 
occasion." 

Accordingly,  the  next  morning  found  Prout,  punctual  to  Knapp's  summons, 
at  his  appointed  post  on  the  top  of  the  castle,  keeping  a  keen  look-out  for  the 
arrival  of  Sir  \\'alter.  He  came,  at  length,  up  the  "  laurel  avenue,"  so  called 
from  the  gigantic  laurels  that  overhang  the  path, 

"^^^lich  bowed, 
As  if  each  brought  a  new  classic  wreath  to  his  head  ; " 

and  alighting  at  the  castle-gate,  supported  by  Knapp,  he  toiled  up  the  winding 
stairs  as  well  as  his  lameness  would  permit,  and  stood  at  last,  with  all  his  fame 
around  liim,  in  the  presence  of  Prout.  The  form  of  mutual  introduction  was 
managed  by  Knapp  with  his  usual  tact  and  urbanity  ;  and  the  first  interchange 
of  thoughts  soon  convinced  Scott  that  he  had  lit  on  no  "clod  of  the  valley" 
in  the  priest.  The  confabulation  which  ensued  may  remind  you  of  the 
"  Tusculanas  Quaestiones  "  of  Tully,  or  the  dialogues  "  De  Oratore,"  or  of 
Home  Tooke's  "  Diversions  of  Purley,"  or  of  all  three  together.     Lli  void. 

SCOTT. 

I  congfratulate  myself,  reverend  father,  on  the  prospect  of  ha\ing  so 
experienced  a  guide  in  exploring  the  wonders  of  this  celebrated  spot.  Indeed, 
I  am  so  far  a  member  of  your  communion,  that  I  take  delight  in  pilgrimages  ; 
and  you  behold  in  me  a  pilgrim  to  the  Blarney  stone. 

PROUT. 

I  accept  the  guidance  of  so  sincere  a  devotee ;  nor  has  a  more  accomplished 
palmer  ever  worn  scrip,  or  staff,  or  scollop-shell,  in  my  recollection ;  nay, 
more — right  honoured  shall  the  pastor  of  the  neighbouring  upland  feel  in 
affording  shelter  and  hospitality,  such  as  every  pilg^m  has  claim  to,  if  the 
penitent  will  deign  visit  my  humble  dwelling. 

SCOTT. 

My  vow  forbids  !  I  must  not  think  of  bodily  refreshment,  or  any  such  pro- 
fane solicitudes,  until  I  go  through  the  solenm  rounds  of  my  devotional  career 
— until  I  kiss  "the  stone,"  and  explore  the  "  cave  where  no  daylight  enters," 
the  "fracture  in  the  battlement,"  the  "late  well  stored  with  fishes,"  and, 
finally,  "  the  sweet  rock-close." 

PROUT. 

All  these  shall  you  duly  contemplate  when  you  shall  liave  rested  from  the 
fatigue  of  climbing  to  this  lofty  eminence,  whence,  seated  on  these  battlements, 
you  can  command  a  landscape  fit  to  repay  the  toil  of  the  most  laborious  pere- 
grination ;  in  truth,  if  the  ancient  observance  were  not  sufficiently  vindicated 
by  your  example  to-day,  I  should  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  take  up  the 
gauntlet  for  that  much-abused  set  of  men,  the  pilgrims  of  olden  time. 


I 


A  Plea  for  Pilgrimages.  27 


SCOTT. 

In  all  cases  of  initiation  to  any  solemn  rites,  such  as  I  am  about  to  enter  on, 
it  is  customary  to  give  an  introductory  letter  to  the  neophyte  ;  and  as  you 
seem  disposed  to  enlighten  us  with  a  preamble,  you  have  got,  reverend  father, 
in  me  a  most  docile  auditor. 

PROUT. 

There  is  a  work,  Sir  Walter,  with  which  I  presume  you  are  not  unacquainted, 
v.hich  forcibly  and  beautifully  portrays  the  honest  fen'our  of  our  forefathers  in 
their  untutored  \-iev,-s  of  Christianity:  but  if  the  "Tales  of  the  Crusaders" 
count  among  their  dramatis  personcB  the  mitred  prelate,  the  cowled  hermit,  the 
croziered  abbot,  and  the  gallant  templar — strange  mixture  of  daring  and  devo- 
-,ion, — far  do  I  prefer  the  sketch  of  that  peculiar  creation  of  Catholicity  and 
.romance,  the  penitent  under  solemn  vow,  who  comes  down  from  Thabor  or 
from  Lebanon  to  embark  for  Europe  :  and  who  in  rude  garb  and  with  unshodden 
feet  will  return  to  his  native  plains  of  Languedoc  or  Lombardy,  displaying 
with  pride  the  emblem  of  Palestine,  and  realizing  what  Virgil  only  dreamt  of — 

"  Primus  Idumseas  referam  tibi,  Mantua,  palmas  !  " 
But  I  am  wrong  in  saying  that  pilgrimages  belong  exclusively  to  our  most 
ancient  fomi  of  Christianity,  or  that  the  patent  for  this  practice  appertains  to 
religion  at  all.  It  is  the  simplest  dictate  of  our  nature,  though  piety  has  con- 
secrated the  practice,  and  marked  it  for  her  own.  Patriotism,  poetry,  philan- 
thropy, all  the  arts,  and  all  the  finer  feelings,  have  their  pilgrimages,  their 
hallowed  spots  of  intense  interest,  their  haunts  of  fancy  and  of  inspiration. 
It  is  the  first  impulse  of  every  genuine  affection,  the  tendency  of  the  heart  in 
its  fervent  youthhood  ;  and  nothing  but  the  cold  scepticism  of  an  age  which 
Edmund  Burke  so  truly  designated  as  that  of  calculators  and  economists, 
could  scoff  at  the  enthusiasm  that  feeds  on  ruins  such  as  these,  that  visits 
with  emotion  the  battle-field  and  the  ivied  abbey,  or  Shakespeare's  grave,  or 
Galileo's  cell,  or  Runnymede,  or  Marathon. 

Filial  affection  has  had  its  pilgrim  in  Telemachus  ;  generous  and  devoted 
loyalty  in  Biondel,  the  best  of  troubadours ;  Bruce,  Belzoni,  and  Humboldt, 
were  pilgrims  of  science  ;  and  John  Howard  was  the  subhme  pilgrim  of 
philanthropy. 

Actuated  by  a  sacred  feehng,  the  son  of  Ulysses  visited  every  isle  and 
inhospitable  shore  of  the  boisterous  .^gean,  until  a  father  clasped  him  in  his 
arms;— propelled  by  an  e-ually  absorbing  attachment,  the  faithful  minstrel  of 
Cceur  de  Lion  sang  be. ore  every  feudal  castle  in  Germany,  until  at  last  a 
dungeon-keep  gave  back  the  responsive  echo  of  "  O  Richard.'  O  mon  roy !" 
If  Belzoni  died  toilworn  and  dissatisfied— if  Baron  Humboldt  is  still  plodding 
his  course  through  the  South  American  peninsula,  or  wafted  on  the  bosom  of 
the  Pacific — it  is  because  the  domain  of  science  is  infinite,  and  her  votaries 
must  never  rest  : 

"  For  there  are  wanderers  o'er  eternity, 
\\'liose  bark  goes  on  and  on,  and  anchor'd  ne'er  shall  be  ! " 

But  when  Howard  explored  the  secrets  of  every  prison-house  in  Europe,  per- 
forming thatw^hich  Burke  classically  described  as  "a  circumnavigation  of 
charity  ;  "  nay,  when,  on  a  still  hoher  errand,  three  eastern  sages  came  from 
the  boundaries  of  the  earth  to  do  homage  to  a  cradle  ;  think  ye  not  that  in 
theirs,  as  in  every  pilgrim's  progress,  a  light  unseen  to  others  shone  on  the 
path  before  them  ?  derived  they  not  untiring  vigour  from  the  exalted  nature  of 
their  pursuit,  felt  they  not  "a  pinion  lifting  every  limb  "  ?  Such  are  the  feel- 
ings which  Tasso  beautifully  describes  when  he  brings  his  heroes  within  view 
of  Sion : 


28  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

' '  Al  grand  piacer  che  quella  prima  vista 
Dolcemente  spiro,  nell'  altrui  petto, 
Alta  contrizion  successe,  mista 
Di  timoroso  e  riverente  affetto. 
Osano  apjjena  d'  innalzar  la  vista 
Ver  la  citti,  di  Cristo  albergo  eletto, 
Dove  mori,  dove  sepolto  fue, 
Dove  poi  rivesti  le  membra  sue  !  " 

Canto  III. 

I  need  not  tell  you,  Sir  Walter,  that  the  father  of  history,  previous  to  taking 
up  the  pen  of  Clio,  explored  every  monument  of  Upper  Eg\-pt  ;  or  that  Hero- 
dotus had  been  preceded  by  Homer,  and  followed  by  Pythagoras,  in  this 
philosophic  pilgrimage;  that  Athens  and  Corinth  were  the  favourite  resorts  of 
the  Roman  literati,  Sylla,  LucuUus,  and  Mecasnas,  when  no  longer  the  seats 
of  empire;  and  that  Rome  itself  is,  in  its  turn,  become  as  well  the  haunt  of 
the  antiquarian  as  the  poet,  and  the  painter,  and  the  Christian  pilgrim ;  for 
dull  indeed  would  that  man  be,  duller  than  the  stagnant  weed  that  vegetates 
on  Lethe's  shore,  who  again  would  put  the  exploded  interrogator}',  once  fallen, 
not  inaptly,  from  the  mouth  of  a  clown — 

"  Quae  tanta  fuit  Romam  tibi  causa  videndi  ?  " 

I  mean  not  to  deny  that  there  exist  vulgar  minds  and  souls  without  refinement, 
•tthose  perceptions  are  of  that  stunted  nature  that  they  can  see  nothing  in  the 
"pass of  Thermopylae"  but  a  gap  for  cattle;  in  the  "Forum"  but  a  cow- 
yard  ;  and  for  whom  St.  Helena  itself  is  but  a  barren  rock  :  but,  thank 
Heaven  !  we  are  not  all  yet  come  to  that  unen\'iable  stage  of  utilitarian  philo- 
sophy ;  and  there  is  still  some  hope  left  for  the  Muses'  haunts,  when  he  of 
Abbotsford  blushes  not  to  visit  the  castle,  the  stone,  and  the  groves  of  Blarney. 
Nor  is  he  unsupported  in  the  indulgence  of  this  classic  fancy ;  for  there 
exists  another  pilgrim,  despite  of  modem  cavils,  who  keeps  up  the  credit  of 
the  profession— a  wayward  childe,  whose  restless  spirit  has  long  since  spurned 
the  solemn  dulness  of  conventional  life,  preferring  to  hold  intercourse  with  the 
moimtain-top  and  the  ocean-brink  :  Ida  and  Salamis  "are  to  him  companion- 
ship ;"  and  every  broken  shaft,  prostrate  capital,  and  marble  fragment  of 
that  sunny  land,  tells  its  tale  of  other  days  to  a  fitting  listener  in  Harold  : 
for  him  Etruria  is  a  teeming  soil,  and  the  spirit  of  song  haunts  Ravenna 
and  Parthenope  :  for  him 

"  There  is  a  tomb  in  Arqua," 

which  to  the  stolid  peasant  that  wends  his  way  along  the  Euganeian  hills 
is  mute  indeed  as  the  grave,  nor  breathes  the  name  of  its  indweller;  but  a 
voice  breaks  forth  from  the  mausoleum  at  the  passage  of  Byron,  the  ashes 
of  Petrarch  grow  warm  in  their  marble  bed,  and  the  last  wish  of  the  poet 
in  his  "  Legacy  "  is  accomplished  : 

"Then  if  some  bard,  who  roams  forsaken. 
Shall  touch  on  thy  cords  in  passing  along, 
O  may  one  thought  of  its  master  waken 
The  sweetest  smile  for  the  Childe  of  Song .' '' 

SCOTT. 

Proud  and  flattered  as  I  must  feel,  O  most  learned  divine  !  to  be  classi- 
fied with  Herodotus,  Pythagoras,  Belzoni,  Bruce,  and  B\Ton,  I  fear  much 
that  I  am  but  a  sorry  sort  of  pilgrim,  after  all.  Indeed,  an  eminent  writer  of 
your  church  has  laid  it  down  as  a  maxim,  which  I  suspect  applies  to  my 
case,  "Qui  multCim  peregrinantur  raro  sarictificantur."  Does  not  Thomas  i 
Kempis  say  so? 


PROUT. 

The  doctrine  may  be  sound  ;  but  the  book  from  which  you  quote  is  one  of 
those  splendid  productions  of  uncertain  authorship  which  we  must  ascribe  to 
some  "great  unknown"  of  the  dark  ages. 

SCOTT. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  can  give  you  a  parallel  sentiment  from  one  of  your 
French  poets ;  for  I  understand  you  are  partial  to  the  literature  of  that  merry 
nation.  The  pilgrim's  wanderings  are  compared  by  this  Gallic  satirist  to  the 
meandering  course  of  a  river  in  Germany,  which,  after  watering  the  plains  of 
Protestant  Wirtemberg  and  CathoUc  Austria,  enters,  by  way  of  finale,  on  the 
domains  of  the  Grand  Turk  : 

"  J'ai  \'u  le  Danube  inconstant, 
Qui,  tantot  Catholique  et  tantot  Protestant, 
Sert  Rome  et  Luther  de  son  onde  ; 

Mais,  comptant  apres  pour  rien 

Romain  et  Lutherien, 
Finit  sa  course  vagabonde 

Par  netre  pas  meme  Chretien. 
Rarement  en  courant  le  monde 

On  devient  homme  de  bien  I" 

By  the  way,  have  you  seen  Stothard's  capital  print,  "  The  Pilgrimage  to 
Canterbury ' '  ? 

PROUT. 

Such  orgies  on  pious  pretences  I  cannot  but  deplore,  with  Chaucer,  Erasmus, 
Dryden,  and  Pope,  who  were  all  of  my  creed,  and  pointedly  condemned  them. 
The  Papal  hierarchy  in  this  country  have  repeatedly  discountenanced  such 
unholy  doings,  ^^'itness  their  efforts  to  demolish  the  cavern  of  Loughderg, 
called  St.  Patrick's  Purgatory,  that  has  no  better  claim  to  antiquity  than  our 
Blarney  cave,  in  which  "  bats  and  badgers  are  for  ever  bred."  And'  stjll,  con- 
cerning this  truly  Irish  curiosity,  there  is  a  document  of  a  droll  description  in 
Rymer's  "  Foedera,"  in  the  32nd  year  of  Edward  III.,  A.D.  1358.  It  is  no 
less  than  a  certificate,  duly  made  out  by  that  good-natured  monarch,  showing 
to  all  men  as  how  a  foreign  nobleman  did  really  visit  the  Cave  of  St.  Patrick,* 
and  passed  a  night  in  its  mysterious  recesses. 

*  This  is,  we  believe,  what  Prout  alludes  to  ;  and  we  confess  it  is  a  precious  relic  of 
olden  simplicit}-,  and  ought  to  see  the  light  : — 

"A.D.  135S,  an.  32  Edw.  III. 
"  Litterse  testimoniales  super  mora  in  S*-^  Patricii  Purgatorio.     Rex  uiiiversis  et  singulis 
ad  quos  praesentes  litterae  pervenerint,  salutem  ! 

"  Nobilis  \-ir  ^lalatesta  Ungarus  de  Arimenio,  miles,  ad  praesentiam  nostram  veniens, 
maturfe  nobis  exposuit  quod  ipse  nuper  a  terrae  suse  discedens  laribus,  Purgatorium  Sancti 
Patricii,  infra  terram  nostram  Hybemiae  constitutum,  in  multis  corporis  sui  laboribus 
peregre  visitarat,  ac  per  integrae  diei  ac  noctis  continuatum  spatium,  ut  est  moris,  clausus 
manserat  in  eodem,  nobis  cum  instantia  supplicando,  ut  in  praemissorum  veracius  fulci- 
mentum  regales  nostras  litteras  inde  sibi  concedere  dignaremur. 

"  Nos  autem  ipsius  peregrinationis  considerantes  periculosa  discrimina,  licet  tanti 
nobilis  in  hac  parte  nobis  assertio  sit  accepta,  quia  tamen  dilecti  ac  fidelis  nostri  Almarici 
de  S^  Amando,  militis,  justiciarii  nostri  Hyberniae,  simul  ac  Prioris  et  Conventus  loci 
dicti  Purgatorii,  et  etiam  aliorum  auctoritatis  multae  ^•i^orum  litteris,  aliisque  claris  evi- 
dentiis  informamur  quod  dictus  nobilis  hanc  peregrinationem  rz'ie  perfecerat  et  etiam 
auztnose. 

''Dignumduximus  super  his  testimonium  nostrum  favorabiliter  adhibere,  ut  sublato 
cujusvis  dubltationis  involucro,  praemissorum  Veritas  singulis  lucidius  patefiat,  has  litteras 
nostras  sigillo  regio  consignatas  illi  duximus  concedendas. 

"  Dat'  in  palatio  nostro  West',  xxiv  die  Octobris,  1358." 

Rymer's  Foedera,  \>y  Caley.     London,  1S25. 
Vol.  iii.  pt.  i.  p.  40S. 


30  The  Works  of  FatJicr  Front, 


SCOTT. 

I  was  aware  of  the  existence  of  that  document,  as  also  of  the  remark  made 
by  one  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam  concerning  the  said  cave  :  "  Xon  desunt  hodie 
qui  descendant,  sedprius  triduano  enecti  jejunio  ne  sano  capite  ingrediantur."* 
Erasmus,  reverend  friend,  was  an  honour  to  your  cloth  ;  but  as  to  Edward  III., 
I  am  not  surprised  he  should  have  encouraged  such  excursions,  as  he  belonged 
to  a  family  whose  patronymic  is  traceable  to  a  pilgrim's  vow.  My  reverend 
friend  is  surely  in  possession  of  the  historic  fact,  that  the  name  of  Plantagenet 
is  derived  from  plantc  de  gencsf,  a  sprig  of  heath,  which  the  first  Duke  of 
Anjou  wore  in  his  helmet  as  a  sign  of  penitential  humiliation,  when  about  to 
depart  for  the  Holy  Land  ;  though  why  a  broom-sprig  should  indicate  lowliness 
is  not  satisfactorily  explained. 

PROUT. 

The  monks  of  that  day,  who  are  reputed  to  have  been  verj^  ignorant, 
were  perhaps  acquainted  with  the  "Georgics"  of  Virgil,  and  recollected  the 
verse — 

"  Quid  majora  sequar?     Sallces  Jaimilesqjce  Genistce." 

n.  434. 

SCOTT. 

I  suppose  there  is  some  similar  recondite  allusion  in  that  unaccountable  deco- 
ration of  eve:-y  holy  traveller's  accoutrement,  the  scollop-shell?  or  was  it  merely 
used  to  quaff  the  waters  of  the  brook  ? 

PROUT, 

It  was  first  assumed  by  the  penitents  who  resorted  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Jago 
di  Compostella,  on  the  western  coast  of  Spain,  to  betoken  that  they  had 
extended  their  penitential  excursion  so  far  as  that  sainted  shore ;  just  as  the 
palm-branch  was  sufficient  evidence  of  a  visit  to  Palestine.  Did  not  the 
soldiers  of  a  Roman  general  fill  their  helmets  with  cockles  on  the  brink  of  the 
German  Ocean?  By  the  bye,  when  my  laborious  and  learned  friend  the 
renowned  Abbe  Trublet,  in  vindicating  the  deluge  against  \'oltaire,  instanced 
the  heaps  of  marine  remains  and  conchylia  on  the  ridge  of  the  Pyrenees,  the 
witty  reprobate  of  Eerney  had  the  unblushing  effrontery  to  assert  that  those 
were  shells  left  behind  by  the  pilgrims  of  St.  Jacques  on  recrossing  the  moun- 
tains. 

SCOTT. 

I  must  not,  meantime,  forget  the  oljjects  of  my  devotion ;  and  with  your 
benison,  reverend  father,  shall  proceed  to  examine  the  "stone." 

*  Erasmus  in  Adagia,  artic.  de  antro  Trophonii.  See  also  Camden's  account  of  this 
cave  in  his  Ilybemue  Dcscriptio,  edition  of  15^4,  p.  671.  It  is-a  singular  fact,  though 
little  known,  that  from  the  visions  said  to  occur  in  this  cavern,  and  bruued  abroad  by  the 
frat'jrnity  of  monks,  whose  connection  with  Italy  was  constant  and  intimate,  Dante  took 
the  first  hint  of  his  Divina  Commedia,  II  Furgatorio.  Such  was  the  celebrity  this  cave 
had  obtained  in  Spain,  that  the  great  dramatist  Calderon  made  it  the  subject  of  one  of 
his  best  pieces  ;  and  it  was  so  well  known  at  the  court  of  Ferrara,  that  Ariosto  introduced 
it  into  his  Orlando  Fiirioso,  canto  x.  stanza  92. 

"Quindi  Ruggier,  poichb  di  banda  in  banda 
Vide  gl'  Inglesi,  ando  verso  1'  Irlanda 
E  vide  Ibernia  fabulosa,  dove 
II  santo  vccchiarel  fece  la  cava 
In  che  tanta  merco  par  che  si  trove, 
Che  r  uom  vi  purga  ogni  sua  colpa  prava  ! " 

[F.  Cresswell.] 


A  Pica  for  Pilgrimages,  3 1 


PROUT. 

You  behold,  Sir  Walter,  in  this  block  the  most  valuable  remnant  of  Ireland's 
ancient  glor>-,  and  the  most  precious  lot  of  her  Phoenician  inheritance  !  Pos- 
sessed of  this  treasure,  she  may  well  be  designated 

"  First  flower  of  the  earth  and  first  gem  of  the  sea  ;  " 

for  neither  the  musical  stone  of  Memnon,  that  "so  sweetly  played  in  tune," 
nor  the  oracular  stone  at  Delphi,  nor  the  lapidary  talisman  of  the  Lydian 
Gyges,  nor  the  colossal  granite  shaped  into  a  sphinx  in  Upper  Egypt,  nor 
Stonehenge,  nor  the  Pelasgic  walls  of  Italy's  Palaestrina,  offer  so  many  attrac- 
tions. The  long-sought  lapis  fhilosophorum,  compared  with  this  jewel, 
dwindles  into  insignificance  ;  nay,  the  savoury  fragment  which  was  substituted 
for  the  infant  Jupiter,  when  Saturn  had  the  mania  of  devouring  his  children  ; 
the  Luxor  obelisk  ;  the  treaty-stone  of  Limerick,  with  all  its  historic  endear- 
ments ;  the  zodiacal  monument  of  Denderach,  with  all  its  astronomic  impor- 
tance; the  Elgin  marbles  with  all  their  sculptured,  the  Arundelian  with  all  their 
lettered,  riches, — cannot  for  a  moment  stand  in  competition  with  the  Blarney 
block.  What  stone  in  the  world,  save  this  alone,  can  communicate  to  the 
tongue  that  suavity  of  speech,  and  that  splendid  effronter}^  so  necessary  to  get 
through  life  ?  Without  this  resource,  how  could  Brougham  have  managed 
to  delude  the  English  public,  or  Dan  O'Connell  to  gull  even  his  own  country- 
men? How  could  St.  John  Long  thrive?  or  Dicky  Shell  prosper?  What 
else  could  have  transmuted  mv  old  friend  Pat  Lardner  into  a  man  of  letters — 
LL.D.,  F.R.S.L.  and  E.,  M.R.I. A.,  F.R.A.S.,  F.L.S.,  F.Z.S.,  F.C.P.S., 
&c.,  &c.?  What  would  have  become  of  Spring  Rice?  and  who  would  have 
heard  of  Charley  Phillips ?  When  the  good  fortune  of  the  above-mentioned 
individuals  can  be  traced  to  any  other  source,  save  and  except  the  Blarney 
stone,  I  am  ready  to  renounce  my  belief  in  it  altogether. 

This  palladium  of  our  country  was  brought  hither  originally  by  the  Phoe- 
nician colony  that  peopled  Ireland,  and  is  the  best  proof  of  our  eastern 
parentage.  The  inhabitants  of  Tyre  and  Carthage,  who  for  many  years  had 
the  Blarney  stone  in  their  custody,  made  great  use  of  the  privilege,  as  the 
proverbs  fides  Punka,  Tyriosque  bUlngucs,  testify.  Hence  the  origin  of  this 
wondrous  tahsman  is  of  the  remotest  antiquity. 

Strabo,  Diodorus,  and  Pliny,  mention  the  arrival  of  the  Tyrians  in  Ireland 
about  the  year  883  before  Christ,  according  to  the  chronology  of  Sir  Isaac 
Xewton,  and  the  twenty-first  year  after  the  sack  of  Troy. 

Now,  to  show  that  in  all  their  migrations  they  carefully  watched  over  this 
treasure  of  eloquence  and  source  of  diplomacy,  I  need  only  enter  into  a  few 
etymological  details.  Carthage,  where  they  settled  for  many  centuries,  but 
which  turns  out  to  have  been  only  a  stage  and  resting-place  in  the  progress  of 
their  western  wanderings,  bears  in  its  very  name  the  trace  of  its  having  had  in 
its  possession  and  custody  the  Blarney  stone.  This  city  is  called  in  the  Scrip- 
ture Tarsus,  or  Tarshish,  C'*U"in,  which  in  Hebrew  means  a  valuable  stone,  a 
stone  of  price,  rendered  in  your  authorized  (?)  version,  where  it  occurs  in  the 
28th  and  39th  chapters  of  Exodus,  by  the  specific  term  beryl,  a  sort  of  jewel. 
In  his  commentaries  on  this  word,  an  eminent  rabbi,  Jacob  Rodrigues 
iMoreira,  the  Spanish  Jew,  says  that  Carthris;e  is  evidently  the  Tarsus  of  the 
Bible,  and  he  reads  the  word  thus— Ijunn,.  accounting  for  the  termina- 
tion in  ish,  by  which  Carthago  becomes  Larshish,  in  a  very  plausible  way : 
"now,"  says  he,  "  our  peoplish  have  de  very  great  knack  of  ending  dere  vords 
in  ish  ;  for  if  you  go  on  the  'Change,  you  will  hear  the  great  man  Xicholish 
Rotchild  calling  the  English  coin  monish." — See  Lectures  delivered  in  the 
Western  Sy?iagogue,  by  J.  R.  AI. 

But,  further,  does  it  not  stand  to  reason  that  there  must  be  some  other  latent 


32  TJie  Works  of  FatJier  Front. 

way  of  accounting  for  the  purchase  of  as  much  grou7id  as  an  ox-hide  ivould 
cover,  besides  the  generally  received  and  most  unsatisfactory  explanation  ?  The 
fact  is,  the  Tyrians  bought  as  much  land  as  their  Blarney  stone  would  require 
to  fix  itself  solidly, — 

"  Taurine  quantum  potult  circumdare  tergo  ; " 
and   having  got   that   much,   by  the  talismanic  stone  they  humbugged  and 
deluded  the  simple  natives,  and  finally  became  the  masters  of  Africa. 

SCOTT. 

I  confess  yoM  have  thro\\-n  a  new  and  unexpected  light  on  a  most  obscure 
passage  in  ancient  history  ;  but  how  the  stone  got  at  last  to  the  county  of 
Cork,  appears  to  me  a  difficult  transition.     It  must  give  you  great  trouble. 

PROUT. 

My  dear  sir,  don't  mention  it !  It  went  to  Minorca  with  a  chosen  body  of 
Carthaginian  adventurers,  who  stole  it  away  as  their  best  safeguard  on  the 
expedition.  They  first  settled  at  Port  Mahon,— a  spot  so  called  from  the  clan 
of  the  O'Mahonys,  a  powerful  and  prolific  race  still  flourishing  in  this  county; 
just  as  the  Nile  had  been  previously  so  named  from  the  tribe  of  the  O'Xeils, 
its  aboriginal  inhabitants.  All  these  matters,  and  mzxiv  more  curious  points, 
will  be  one  day  revealed  to  the  world  by  my  friend  Henry  O'Brien,  in  his  work 
on  the  Round'Towers  of  Ireland.  Sir,  we  built  the  pyramids  before  we  left 
Eg}-pt  ;  and  all  those  obelisks,  sphinxes,  and  Memnonic  stones,  were  but 
emblems  of  the  great  relic  before  you. 

George  Knapp,  who  had  looked  up  to  Prout  with  dumb  amazement  from  the 
commencement,  here  pulled  out  his  spectacles,  to  examine  more  closely  the  old 
block,  while  Scott  shook  his  head  doubtingly. 

"  I  can  convince  the  most  obstinate  sceptic,  Sir  Walter,"  continued  the 
learned  doctor,  "of  the  intimate  connection  that  subsisted  between  us  and 
those  islands  which  the  Romans  called  insula;  BaUares,  without  knowing  the 
signification  of  the  words  which  they  thus  apphed.  That  they  were  so  called 
from  the  Blarney  stone,  will  appear  at  once  to  any  person  accustomed  to  trace 
Celtic  derivations  :  the  Ulster  king  of  arms,  Sir  WiUiam  Beiham,  has  shown 
it  by  the  following  scale." 

Here  Prout  traced  with  his  cane  on  the  muddy  floor  of  the  castle  the  words 

"  ^a'Lc.KV.cs  z"N.fz</.t=Elarna;  !  " 

SCOTT, 

Prodigious  !  My  reverend  friend,  you*  have  set  the  pomt  at  rest  for  ever — 
rem  acu  tetigisti!    Have  the  goodness  to  proceed. 

PROUT. 

Setting  sail  from  Minorca,  the  expedition,  after  encountering  a  desperate 
storm,  cleared  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  and  landing  in  the  Cove  of  Cork, 
deposited  their  treasure  in  the  greenest  spot  and  the  shadiest  groves  of  this 
beautiful  vicinity. 

SCOTT, 

How  do  you  account  for  their  being  left  by  the  Carthaginians  in  quiet  pos- 
session of  this  invaluable  deposit  ? 

PROUT. 

They  had  sufficient  tact  (derived  from  their  connection  with  the  stone)  to  give 
out,  that  in  the  storm  it  had  been  thrown  overboard  to  relieve  the  ship,  in  lati- 


A  Plea  for  Pilgrimages.  33 

tude  36°  14",  longitude  24°.  A  search  was  ordered  by  the  senate  of  Carthage, 
and  the  Mediterranean  was  dragged  without  effect;  but  the  mariners  of  that 
sea,  according  to  Virgil,  retained  a  superstitious  reverence  for  every  submarine 
appearance  of  a  stone  : 

"  Saxa  vocant  Itali  mediis  quae  in  fluctibus  aras  !  " 

And  Aristotle  distinctly  says,  in  his  treatise  "  De  Mirandis,"  quoted  by  the 
erudite  Justus  Lipsius,  that  a  law  was  enacted  against  any  further  intercourse 
with  Ireland.  His  words  are  :  "  In  man,  extra  Herculis  Columnas,  insulam 
desertam  inventam  fuisse  sylv'l  7iemorosam,  in  quam  crebro  Carthaginienses 
commearint,  et  sedes  etiam  fixerint :  sed  veriti  ne  nimis  cresceret,  et  Carthago 
laberetur,  edicto  cavisse  ne  quis  poena  capitis  eo  deinceps  navigaret." 

The  fact  is.  Sir  Walter,  Ireland  was  always  considered  a  lucky  spot,  and 
constantly  excited  the  jealousy  of  Greeks,  Romans,  and  people  of  every 
countr)^  The  Athenians  thought  that  the  ghosts  of  departed  heroes  were 
transferred  to  our  fortunate  island,  which  they  call,  in  the  war-song  of  Harmo- 
dius  and  Aristogiton,  the  land  of  O's  and  Macs  : 

Nrjaots  6'  EV  MAK  ap'  QN  ai  (paaiv  tivai. 

And  the  "  Groves  of  Blarney  "  have  been  comniemorated  by  the  Greek  poets 
many  centuries  before  the  Christian  era. 

SCOTT, 

There  is  certainly  somewhat  of  Grecian  simplicity  in  the  old  song  itself  ;  and 
if  Pindar  had  been  an  Irishman,  I  thfnk  he  would  have  celebrated  this  favourite 
haunt  in  a  style  not  very  different  from  MiUikin's  classic  rhapsody. 

PROUT. 

Millikin,  the  reputed  author  of  that  song,  was  but  a  simple  translator  from 
the  Greek  original.  Indeed,  I  have  discovered,  when  abroad,  in  the  library  of 
Cardinal  Mazarin,  an  old  Greek  manuscript,  which,  after  diligent  examination, 
I  am  convinced  must  be  the  oldest  and  ' '  princeps  editio  "  of  the  song.  I  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  copy  it,  in  order  that  I  might  compare  it  with  the  ancient 
Latin  or  Vulgate  translation  which  is  preserved  in  the  Brera  at  Milan ;  and 
from  a  strict  and  minute  comparison  with  that,  and  with  the  Norman-French 
copy  which  is  appended  to  Doomsday-book,  and  the  Celtic-Irish  fragment  pre- 
served by  Crofton  Croker  (rejecting  as  spurious  the  Arabic,  Armenian,  and 
Chaldaic  stanzas  on  the  same  subject,  to  be  found  in  the  collection  of  the  Royal 
Asiatic  Society),  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Greeks  were  the 
undoubted  original  contrivers  of  that  splendid  ode ;  though  whether  we  ascribe 
it  to  Tyrtseus  or  Callimachus  will  depend  on  future  evidence ;  and  perhaps, 
Sir  Walter,  yotc  would  give  me  your  opinion,  as  I  have  copies  of  all  the  versions 
I  allude  to  at  my  dwelling  on  the  hill. 

SCOTT. 

I  cannot  boast,  learned  father,  of  much  vov<s  in  Hellenistic  matters;  but 
should  find  myself  quite  at  home  in  the  Gaelic  and  Xorman-French,  to  inspect 
which  I  shall  with  pleasure  accompany  you  :  so  here  I  kiss  the  stone  ! 

The  wonders  of  "  the  castle,"  and  "cave,"  and  "  lake,"  were  speedily  gone 
over;  and  now,  according  to  the  usage  of  the  dramatist,  modo  Roinix,  vtodb 
ponit  Atheftis,  we  shift  the  scene  to  the  tabernacle  of  Father  Prout  on  Water- 
grasshill,  where,  round  a  small  table,  sat  Scott,  Knapp,  and  Prout — a  trium- 
virate of  critics  never  equalled.  The  papers  fell  into  my  hands  when  the  table 
was  cleared  for  the  subsequent  repast  ;  and  thus  I  am  able  to  submit  to  the 
world's  decision  what  these  three  could  not  decide,  viz.,  which  is  the  original 
version  of  the  "  Groves  of  Blarney." 

D  * 


34 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Z\t  Grofafft  of  fiUrntx!. 


Le  Bois  de  Blarnaye. 


The  groves  of  Blarney, 
They  look  so  charming, 
Down  by  the  purlings 
Of  sweet  silent  brooks, 
All  decked  by  posies 
That  spontaneous  grow  there. 
Planted  in  order 
In  the  rocky  nooks. 
'Tis  there  the  daisy, 
And  the  sweet  carnation, 
The  blooming  pink, 
And  the  rose  so  fair  ; 
Likewise  the  lily, 
And  the  daffodilly — 
All  flowers  that  scent 
The  sweet  open  air. 


Charmans  locages  ! 
Vous  me  ravissez. 
Que  d' avantages 
Vous  reunissez  ! 
Rochers  sauvnges, 
Paisibles  ruisseaux, 
Tendres  ramages 
De  gen  tils  oiseaux  : 
Dans  ce  doux  parage 
Aiinable  Nature 
A  fait  ttalage 
D'etemelle  verdure : 
Et  lesfleurs,  a.  me  sure  ^ 
Quelles  croissejtt,  a.  raiscn 
De  la  belle  saison 
Font  brilUr  leurparure. 


II. 

'Tis  Lady  Jeffers 
Owns  this  plantation ; 
Like  Alexander,  _ 
Or  like  Helen  fair, 
There's  no  commander 
In  all  the  nation, 
For  regulation 
Can  with  her  compare. 
Such  walls  surround  her, 
That  no  nine-pounder 
Could  ever  plunder 
Her  place  of  strength  ; 
But  Oliver  Cromwell, 
Her  he  did  pommel, 
And  made  a  breach 
In  her  battlement. 


IL 

Cesi  Madame  de  Jefferts, 
Femme  pleine  d'addresse. 
Qui  sur  ces  bea^ix  diserts 
Regne  eti  fi'ure princesse. 
Elle  exerce  ses  droits 
Comme  dame  via'ttresse, 
Dans  cetteforteresse 
Que  la  hautje  z'ois. 
Plus  sage  millefois 
Qu'  Helene  ou  Cltopatre, 
Cromvel  seul put  I'ahbAtre, 
La  mettant  aux  abois, 
Quand,  allumant  sa  tneclte. 
Point  ne  tira  au  hasard, 
Mais  bien  dans  son  rempart 
Fit  irreparable  briche. 


in. 

There  is  a  cave  where 
No  daylight  enters. 
But  cats  and  badgers 
Are  for  ever  bred  ; 
And  mossed  by  nature 
Makes  it  completer 
Than  a  coach-and-six, 
Or  a  downy  bed. 
'Tis  there  the  lake  is 
Well  stored  with  fishes. 
And  comely  eels  in 
The  verdant  mud  ; 
Besides  the  leeches. 
And  groves  of  beeches. 
Standing  in  order 
To  guard  the  flood. 


IIL 

//  est  dans  ces  vallons 
Ufte  sombre  caverne. 
Oil  jamais  nous  n'allons 
Qu'armes  dune  lanteme. 
La  mousse  en  cette  grotte 
Tapissant  cliaque  mottc 
Vous  offre  dcs  sofas  ; 
Ft  lu  se  troui'c  unic 
La  douce  symphonie 
Des  hiboux  et  des  chats. 
Tout  pre s  on  voit  nn  lac. 
Oil  Ics  poissons  affluent, 
A  vec  assez  de  sangsucs 
Pour  en  ronplir  un  sac  ; 
Et  sur  ces  bords  champetres 
On  a  pla/iie  cks  hctres. 


A  Plea  for  Pilgrimages. 


35 


'H  TXtj  BXopvj/ctj. 


Tt7S  BXapvias  aX  vkaL 

'Onov  (Tiyr)  peovcrt 

'Efcovra  yevi^qOevTa 
"O^xws  re  (i)VT^t}devTa 
Mecrerois  ev  ayKOvea<Tiv 
'Ear  av9e  TrerpwSeo'O'tv, 
E/cet  cot'  avXaiTj/xa 
TkvKV  Ktti  epvOrifxa, 
lov  t'  e»cei  0aAov  re 
BacriAiKOV  poSov  tc. 
Kai  Aeipiov  re  (|)vei, 
A<7<^o5eXos  re  fipvei., 
navT  avdeij.'  a  Ka\i[i<HV 
El*  evSiat?  arjo-iv. 


Blameum  Nemus. 
I. 

Quisquis  hlc  in  laetls 
Gaudes  errare  virefis, 
Turrigeras  rupes 
Blamea  saxa  stupes  ! 
Murmure  dum  cseco 
Lympharum  perstrepit  echo, 
Quas  veluti  mutas 
Ire  per  arva  putas. 
Multus  in  hoc  luco 
Rubet  undique  flos  sine  fuCO, 
Ac  ibi  formosam 
Cemis  ubique  rosam  ; 
Suaviter  hi  flores 
Miscent  ut  amabis  odores  ; 
Nee  requiem  demus, 
Nam  placet  omne  nemus  ! 


TavTTjs  IE$EPE22A 
KaA.T)  (cat  xapucrcroL. 
'fis  'EKeirq,  to?  T  utos 
Tou  A/x/iovos  o  5io?, 
^reias  ecrr'  avacrcrrj. 
lepvT/  t'  ev  ana<rr) 

OuTt?  ^pOTUiV  7ei'0tT0 

'O?  avTTJ  (7T'/x<^epoiTO, 
OiKOvo/xeiv  7ap  ol6e. 
Toixot  Totrot  Toioi  6e 
AuTTji'  aiJ.<f)i<TTe4)0VTai, 
IIoAe/jii/o)  oj?  ppovrq 
MaTTji-  VLV  ^aAA'  libs  lipws 
KpOju.ueA.Xos  OAi(|)r]pos 
ETTepcre,  61  an^acras 
AKpoTToAews  TT-epaaa?. 


II. 

Foemina  dux  horum 
Regnat  Jeferessa  locorum. 
Pace,  virago  gravis, 
Marteque  pejor  avis  ! 
Africa  non  atram 
Componeret  ei  Cleopatram, 
Nee  Dido  constares ! 
Non  habet  ilia  pares. 
Turre  manens  ista 
Nulla  est  violanda  balistS: 
Turris  erat  diris 
Non  penetranda  viris  ; 
Cromwellus  latum 
Tamen  illic  fecit  hiatum, 
Et  ludos  heros 
Lucit  in  arce  feros  ! 


7- 

Ktti  avTpov  ea-r'  exei  Se 
'O7'  1^/xep'  ovTTOT   eiSe, 
MeAeis  5e  Kai  70X01  ev 
AvTO)  Tpec/joiTtti.  atev 
EvTeAecrrepov  4>vov  re 
A|ui</)ts  770iet  |3pt'OV  76 

'EjlTTTTOU  T)  Sl4)pO'-0 

H  (C01TT)S  louXoto* 
IxOveiav  re  fj.ecrrr] 
A.ifj.iTi  e/cet  TrapecTTi, 
K'  e7xeXees  (f)vovcn. 
Ev  iXut  0aXoucnj" 
BSeXAat  re  enrtv  aXXa 
^7(0  V  re  aAcrr)  koA'  a 
2Tixeo"cr'  eicet  TeroJCTai, 
Ats  poT)  7re</)vAaKTai. 


III. 

Hie  tenebrosa  caverna 
Est,  gattorumque  taberna, 
Talpa  habitata  pigro, 
Non  sine  fele  nigro  ; 
Muscus  iners  olli  _ 
Stravit  loca  tegmine  moUi 
Lecticse,  ut  plumis 
Mollior  esset  humus  : 
Inque  lacil  anguillee 
Luteo  nant  gurgitemille ; 
Quo  nat,  arnica  luti, 
Hostis  hirudo  cuti  : 
Grande  decus  pagi, 
Fluvai  stant  margine  fagi ; 
Quodque  tegunt  ramo 
Labile  flumen  amo  ! 


36 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


IV. 

There  gravel  walks  are 
For  recreation, 
And  meditation 
In  sweet  solitude. 
'Tis  there  the  lover 
May  hear  the  dove,  or 
The  gentle  plover, 
In  the  afternoon  ; 
And  if  a  lady 
Would  be  so  engaging 
As  for  to  walk  in 
Those  shady  groves, 
'Tis  there  the  courtier 
Might  soon  transport  her 
Into  some  fort,  or 
The  "sweet  rock-close." 


IV. 

Ici  I'homme  ntrahilaire 
Un  sentier peut  choisir 
Pour  y  suivir  a  loisir 
Son  rive  solitaire, 
Qua?ui  une  nympfte  criielle 
L'a  mis  au  desespoir. 
Sans  qu'il  p7iisse  nnouvoir 
Uiiiexorable  belle. 
Quel  doux  reposje  goute, 
Assis  sur  ce  gazon  I 
Du  rossignol  j'ecoute 
I.e  tendre  diapason. 
Ah  !  dans  cet  ant  re  noir 
Puisse  ma  Leonore, 
Celle  que  mon  cceur  adore, 
Venir furtive  au  soir  I 


There  are  statues  gracing 
This  noble  place  in- 
All  heathen  gods, 
And  nymphs  so  fair  ; 
Bold  Neptune,  Caesar, 
And  Nebuchadnezzar, 
All  standing  naked 
In  the  open  air  ! 
There  is  a  boat  on 
The  lake  to  float  on, 
And  lots  of  beauties 
Which  I  can't  entwine  ; 
But  were  I  a  preacher. 
Or  a  classic  teacher. 
In  every  feature 
I'd  make  'em  shine  ! 


V. 

Dans  ces  classiques  lienx 
Plus  d'ufie  statue  brille, 
Et  se  prisente  aux  yeux 
En  par/ait  deshabille  ! 
La  Neptune  on  disceme, 
Et  Jules  Cesar  en  plomb, 
Et  Vefius,  et  le  tronc 
Du  General  Holofeme. 
I  'eut-on  vaguer  aJi  large 
Sur  ce  lac  ?  un  esquif  ^ 
Offre  a.  V amateur  craintif 
Les  chances  d'un  naufrage. 
Que  ne  suis-je  un  Hugo, 
Ou  quelqu' auteur  en  vogue. 
En  ce  genre  d'eglogue. 
ye  n  aurais pas  d'^gaux. 


VI 

There  is  a  stone  there. 
That  whoever  kisses. 
Oh  I  he  never  misses 
To  grow  eloquent. 
'Tis  he  may  clamber 
To  a  lady's  chamber. 
Or  become  a  member 
Of  parliament : 
A  clever  spouter 
He'll  sure  turn  out,  or 
An  out-and-outer, 
"  To  be  let  alone," 
Don't  hope  to  hinder  him. 
Or  to  bewilder  him  ; 
Sure  he's  a  pilgrim 
From  the  Blarney  stone  !  * 

•  End  of  Millikin's  Translation  of  the 
Groves  of  Blarney. 


VI. 

Une  pierre  s'y  rencontre. 

Estimable  trisor. 

Qui  7'aut  son  poids  en  or 

A  u  guide  qui  la  ynontre. 

Qui  baise  ce  monument, 

Acquiert  la  parole 

Qui  doucement  cajole  ; 

II  de-'ient  eloquent. 

Au  boudoir  d'unc  dame 

II  sera  bien  refu, 

Et  meme  a  son  insfu 

Fera  na'itrc  nnejiamme. 

Homme  a  bonnes /ortunes, 

A  lui  o'l  pent  se/ier 

Pour  jnystijier 

La  Chambre  des  Comm7ines.\ 

+  Ici  finist  le  Po^me  dit  le  Bois  de  Blar- 
naye,  copi6  du  Livre  de  Doomsdaye,  a.d. 

io6g. 


s. 

Ai^tva?  y  exei.  wopeia? 
'EveKa  TreptTraretas, 
Evvoiav  re  Oetau 
Kar'  epTj/LLtar  7AvKeiaV 
E^eo-Ti  (cat  epacnj} 
'Med'  ecTTrepav  o.Ka.<TrQ 
Ak.ov€lv  1)  Tpi^pajv'  7} 
2e,  fii/cpe  Atyuiwve  ! 
El  Tis  re  KOLi.  SecTTTOiva 
E/cei  /caA.Tj  /aevoti'a 
AXacrOaL  Tefxeveaat. 
Icrtos  ev  (TKioecrcri, 
Tis  evyevr]?  yevoiTO 
Aurrji'  OS  anayoi.TO 
Eis  7rvp70v  Tt  T)  Trpos  (re, 
n  A.i9tvoj/  CTireos  ye  ! 


EifiwX'  aYXai^ovTa 
EcTTi  6tov  ronov  re. 
Tiav  eOiLicuJv  Oeiov  re, 
Twv  ApvaSwv  (caAwv  re' 
IlocretSodv  T)6e  Kaicrap 

T'  lSov  y a^ex"^^'°-'-'^"-P' 
Ev  ai^pia  oLTTavTas 
Ectt'  iSeii/  •yuju.vovs  crravTa?. 
Ef  MiMVT]  eo-Ti  TrXocor, 
Et  Tt?  7r'\eeti'  Oekoi  av 
Kat  /caAa  ocrcr'  6710  crot 
Ou  fiuvaja'  e/crvTroJcraf 
AAA'  et  7'  etTji'  XoyLCTTiq?, 
H  StSacTKaAos  cro(^t(7T7)S, 
Tot'  e^oxwTaT'  av  crot 
Aet|at/xi  TO  airoLV  <roi. 


EKet  AiSov  t'  evprjaet?, 
AuTOv  fxev  et  (J)tATjcrets 
EvSatfAOV  TO  (^t'ATj/aa- 
PrjTwp  7ap  -apaxpilH-a- 
Teioio-eat  crv  6etvo?, 
Pvi'ttt^t  t'  epaTeti'OS, 
2ejnvOTaTa  Te  AoAiui' 
Ef  ^ovAj]  Tcor  /xeT*  aAAajv 
Kat  ep-  rats  a7opata"t 
"Ka9oAtKats"  ^oatcrt 
Atj^aos  o"ot  'KoAov^iicret, 
Kat  x^'-P°-'^  '^°'  fcpoTTjaet 
'Os  ai'Spt  TO)  )ote7to"Ta) 
Arnj-Oyoptov  t   apto'TO)' 
Q  65os  ovpai^ovSe 
Ata  BAapvtKOi/  AtOov  7'  T?.* 

*  TeAos  TTjs  'YAtjs  BAavpt/cr)?.  Ex  Codice 
Vatic,  vetustiss.  incert.  avi  circa  an.  Sal. 
CM. 


IV. 

Cernis  in  has  valles 
Quo  ducunt  tramite  calles, 
Hanc  mente  in  sedem 
Fer  meditante  pedem, 
Quisquis  ades,  bellae 
Transfixus  amore  puellse 
Aut  patriae  carse 
Tempus  inane  dare  I 
Dumque  jaces  herba, 
Turtur  flet  voce  superbS, 
Arboreoque  throno 
Flet  philomela  sono  : 
Spelunca  apparet 
Quam  dux  Trojanus  amaret, 
In  simili  nido 
Nam  fuit  icta  Dido. 


V. 

Plumbea  signa  DeQm 

Nemus  ornant,  grande  trophseum  ! 

Stas  ibi,  Bacche  teres  ! 

Kec  sine  fruge  Ceres, 

Neptunique  vago  _ 

De  flumine  surgit  imago  ; 

Julius  hie  Csesar 

Stat,  Nabechud  que  Nezar  ! 

Navicula  insonti 

Dat  cuique  pericula  ponti, 

Si  quis  cymba  hac  cum 

Vult  super  ire  lacum. 

Carmini  huic  ter  sum 

Conatus  hie  addere  versum  : 

Pauper  at  ingenio, 

Plus  nihil  invenio  ! 


VI. 

Fortunatam  autem 
Premuerunt  oscula  cautem 
(Fingere  dum  conor 
Debitus  huic  sic  honor) : 
Quam  bene  tu  fingis  _ 
Qui  saxi  oracula  lingis, 
Eloquioque  sapis 
Quod  dedit  ille  lapis  ! 
Gratus  homo  bellis 
Fit  unctis  melle  labelUs, 
Gratus  erit  populo 
Oscula  dans  scopulo; 
Fit  subitb  orator, 
Caudaque  sequente  senator. 
Scandere  vis  aethram  ? 
Hanc  venerare  petram  !  T 

+  Explicit  hie  Carmen  de  Xemore  Blar- 
nensi.  Ex  Codice  No.  464  in  Bibhotheca 
Brerse  apud  Mediolanum. 


38  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 


leir.Atj  be  Icrni  beAtjAjr  ah  ajc  reo 
.2T)An  cneun-SnAirrvAn)  ijo  T)eleo  CaoIi) 
?«Ji'l  ceAnpeAboA  a]ti  itmsha  cine 
CornjMl  leici  cutT)  AHtACCAir  &'  r-i^3Ait 
Ca  caitUat)  'n*  norncioU.  rjAleopK  pleupiA. 

a  bAllAIO  CCA^A  b'AttSMO  HA  fS^IO^  ^ 

"ilcc  Oliben  CponjfMl;  o'piS  5^  F^^  j, 
^r  MO  beAT\i)A  Bjojx  |Of}A  fixlcA  no-* 

*  Fragment  of  a  Celtic  MS.,  from  the  King's  Library,  Copenhagen. 


III. 
Jfa^r  H rout's  €nxm%^L 

{Fraser's  Magazine,  June,  1834.) 


[The  Literary  Portrait  adorning  the  number  of  Regina  containing  this  exhilarating 
account  of  Father  Prout's  symposium  at  Watergrasshill  was  the  vera  effigies  of  Leigh 
Hunt  as  he  then  was — long  before  his  sable  locks  were  silvered,  and  when,  though  already 
in  his  fortieth  year,  he  could  be  portrayed  without  much  extravagance  as  bearing  the 
semblance  of  a  dark-eyed,  careworn  youth  !  The  linguistic  gems  of  this  third  paper  by 
Mahony  are  undoubtedly  his  Latin  version  of  Campbell's  glorious  war-song,  resonantly 
echoed  in  Prout's  "  Prelium  apud  Hohenlinden,"  and  that  foretaste  of  his  onslaught  with 
the  big  end  of  the  shilelagh  on  Moore,  the  Cork  Father's  classic  rendering  of  "Let  Erin 
remember  the  days  of  old  "  as  "  O  utinam  sanos  mea  lema  recogitet  annos."  As  a  fitting 
embellishment  to  the  Carousal  in  the  original  edition  of  1836  the  reader  enjoyed  a  glimpse 
at  its  close  of  "  The  Miraculous  Draught,"  to  which  the  convives  were  challenged  by  the 
uplifted  tumbler  of  whisky  toddy.] 


'  He  spread  his  vegetable  store, 
And  gaily  pressed  and  smiled  ; 

And,  skilled  in  legendar>-  lore. 
The  lingering  hours  beguiled." 

Goldsmith. 


Before  we  reume  the  thread  (or  yam)  of  Frank  Cresswell's  narrative  con- 
cerning the  memorable  occurrences  which  took  place  at  Blarney,  on  the  remark- 
able occasion  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  visit  to  "  the  groves,"  we  feel  it  imperative 
on  us  to  set  ourselves  right  with  an  illustrious  correspondent,  relative  to  a  most 
important  particular.  We  have  received,  through  that  useful  medium  of  the 
interchange  of  human  thought,  "the  twopenny  post,"  a  letter  which  we  think 
of  the  utmost  consequence,  inasmuch  as  it  goes  to  impeach  the  veracity,  not  of 
Father  Prout  [pairem  quis  dicere  falsum  audcat  f),  but  of  the  young  and  some- 
what facetious  barrister  who  has  been  the  volunteer  chronicler  of  his  life  and 
opinions. 

For  the  better  understanding  of  the  thing,  as  it  is  likely  to  become  ^.qucesiio 
z'exata  in  other  quarters,  we  may  be  allowed  to  bring  to  recollection  that,  in 
enumerating  the  many  eminent  men  who  had  kissed  the  Blarney  stone  during 
Prout's  residence  in  the  parish — an  experience  extending  itself  over  a  period  of 
nearly  half  a  century- — Doctor  D.  Lardner  was  triumphantly  mentioned  by  the 
benevolent  and  simple-minded  incumbent  of  Watergrasshill,  as  a  proud  and 
incontestable  instance  of  the  \-irtue  and  efficacy  of  the  tahsman,  applied  to  the 
most  ordinary  materials  with  the  most  miraculous  result.  Instead  of  feehng  a 
lingering  remnant  of  gratitude  towards  the  old  parei^t-block  for  such  super- 
natural interposition  on  his  behalf,  and  looking  back  to  that  "  kiss"  with  fond 


40  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 

and  filial  recollection— instead  of  allowing  "the  stone  "  to  occupy  the  greenest 
spot  in  the  wilderness  of  his  memory — "the  stone"  that  first  sharpened  his 
intellect,  and  on  which  ought  to  be  inscribed  the  line  of  Horace, 

"  Fungor  vice  cotis,  acutum 
Reddere  quae  valeat  ferrum,  exsors  ipsa  secandi" — 

instead  of  this  praiseworthy  expression  of  tributary  acknowledgment,  the 
Doctor  writes  to  us  denying  all  obligation  in  the  quarter  alluded  to,  and  con- 
tradicting most  flatly  the  "soft  impeachment"  of  having  kissed  the  stone  at 
all.  His  note  is  couched  in  such  peevish  terms,  and  conceived  in  such  fretful 
mood,  that  we  protest  we  do  not  recognize  the  tame  and  usually  unexcited 
tracings  of  his  gentle  pen ;  but  rather  suspect  he  has  been  induced,  by  some 
medical  wag,  to  use  a  quill  plucked  from  the  membranous  integument  of  that 
celebrated  "  man-porcupine  "  who  has  of  late  exhibited  his  hirsuteness  at  the 
Middlesex  Hospital. 

"London  U)iiversity,  May  Zth. 

"Sir, 

"I  owe  it  to  the  great  cause  of  '  Useful  Knowledge,'  to  which  I 
have  dedicated  my  past  labours,  to  rebut  temperately,  yet  firmly,  the  assertion 
reported  to  have  been  made  by  the  late  Rev.  Mr.  Prout  (for  whom  I  had  a 
high  regard),  in  conversing  with  the  late  Sir  Walter  Scott  on  the  occasion 
alluded  to  in  your  ephemeral  work  ;  particularly  as  I  find  the  statement  re- 
asserted by  that  widely-circulated  journal"  the  Morning  Herald  oi  yesterday's 
date.  Were  either  the  reverend  clergyman  or  the  distinguished  baronet  now 
living,  I  would  appeal  to  their  candour,  and  so  shame  the  inventor  of  that  tale. 
But  as  both  are  withdrawn  by  death  from  the  literary  world,  I  call  on  you,  sir, 
to  insert  in  your  next  Number  this  positive  denial  on  my  part  of  having  ever 
kissed  that  stone;  the  supposed  properiies  of  which,  I  am  ready  to  prove,  do 
not  bear  the  test  of  chymical  analysis.  I  do  recollect  having  been  solicited 
by  the  present  Lord  Chancellor  of  England  (and  also  of  the  London  Univer- 
sity), whom  I  am  proud  to  call  my  friend  (though  you  have  given  him  the 
sobriquet  of  Bridlegoose,  with  your  accustomed  want  of  deference  for  great 
names),  to  join  him,  when,  many  years  ago,  he  privately  embarked  on  board  a 
Westmoreland  collier  to  perform  his  devotions  at  Blarney.  That  circumstance 
is  of  old  date  ;  it  was  about  the  year  that  Paris  was  taken  by  the  allies,  and 
certainly  previous  to  the  Queens  trial.  But  I  did  not  accompany  the  then 
simple  Harry  Brougham,  content  with  what  nature  had  done  for  me  in  that 
particular  department. 

"  Vou  will  please  insert  this  disavowal  from, 
"  Sir, 
' '  Your  occasional  reader, 

"  DioNYSius  Lardner,  D.D. 

"  P.S.— If  you  neglect  me,  I  shall  take  care  to  state  my  own  case  in  the 
Cyclopaedia.  Ill  prove  that  the  block  at  Blarney  is  an  '  Aerolithe,'  and  that 
your  statement  as  to  its  Phoenician  origin  is  unsupported  by  historical  evidence. 
Recollect,  you  have  thrown  the  first  stone." 

Now,  to  us,  considering  these  things,  and  much  pondering  on  the  Doctor's 
letter,  it  seemed  advisable  to  refer  the  matter  to  our  reporter,  Frank  Cresswell 
aforesaid,  who  has  given  us  perfect  satisfaction.  P.y  him  our  attention  was 
called,  first,  to  the  singular  bashfulness  of  the  learned  man,  in  curtailing  from 
his  signature  the  usual  appendages  that  shed  such  lustre  o'er  his  name.  He 
lies  before  us  in  this  epistle  a  simple  D.  D.,  whereas  he  certainly  is  entitled  to 
write  himself  F.R.S.,   M.R.I. A.,   F.R.A.S.,    F.L.S.,   F.Z.S.,    F.C.P.S..  &c. 


Father  Proufs  Carousal.  41 


Thus,  in  his  letter,  "we  saw  him,"  to  borrow  an  illustration  from  the  beautiful 
episode  of  James  Thomson, 

"We  saw  him  charming  ;  but  we  saw  not  half — 
The  rest  his  downcast  modesty  concealed." 

Next  as  to  dates  :  how  redolent  of  my  Uncle  Toby — "about  the  year  Den- 
dermonde  \vas  taken  by  the  allies."  The  reminiscence  was  probably  one  of 
which  he  was  unconscious,  and  we  therefore  shall  not  call  him  a  plagiary ;  but 
how  slylv,  how  diabolically  does  he  seek  to  shift  the  onus  and  gravamen  of  the 
whole  'business  on  the  rickety  shoulders  of  his  learned  friend  Bridlegoose  ! 
This  will  not  do,  O  sage  Thaiimaturgus  /  By  implicating  "  Bridois6n,"  you 
shall  not  extricate  yourself— "^/ z'//«/d  tu  digitus,  et  hie;"  and  Frank  Cress- 
well  has  let  us  into  a  secret.  Know  then,  all  men,  that  among  these  never-too- 
anxiously-to-be-looked-out-for  "  Prout  Papers,"  there  is  a  positive  record  of 
theinitia'tionbothof  Henry  Brougham  and  Patrick  Lardner  to  the  freemasonry 
of  the  Blarney  stone  ;  and,  more  important  still— (O,  most  rare  document  !)  — 
there  is  to  be  found  amid  the  posthumous  treasures  of  Father  Prout  the  original 
project  of  a  University  at  Blarney,  to  be  then  and  there  founded  by  the  united 
efforts  of  Lardner,  Dan  O'Connell,  and  Tom  Steele  ;  and  of  which  the  Doctor's 
"  AEROLITHE  "  was  to  have  been  the  corner-stone. 

[Frank  Cresswell  tells  us  that  the  statutes,  and  the  whole  getting  up  of  that 
contemplated  Alma  Mater  have  been  reproduced  like  a  "  twice-boiled  cabbage  " 
—a  sort  of  cramhe  repeiita — in  the  Gower  Street  Academy  for  young  Cockneys  ; 
but  that  the  soil  being  evidently  not  congenial  to  the  plant,  unless  it  be 
transferred  back  to  Blarney,  the  place  of  its  nativity,  it  must  droop  and  die. 
So  we  often  told  the  young'  gulls  that  frequent  the  school  itself— so  we  told 
Lardner,  the  great  oracle  of  its  votaries — so  we  often  told  Lord  Brougham  and 
Vaux,  the  sublime  shepherd  of  the  whole  flock  : 

"  Formosi  pecoris  custos,  formosior  ipse  ! "] 

We  therefore  rely  on  the  forthcoming  Prout  Papers  for  a  confirmation  of  all 
we  have  said  ;  and  here  do  we  cast  down  the  glove  of  defiance  to  the  champion 
of  Stinkomalee,  even  though  he  come  forth  armed  to  the  teeth  in  a  panoply, 
not,  of  course,  forged  on  the  classic  anvil  of  the  Cyclops,  however  laboriously 
hammered  in  the  clumsy  arsenal  of  his  own  "  Cyclopaedia." 

We  know  there  is  another  world,  where  every  man  will  get  his  due  according 
to  his  deserts  ;  but  if  there  be  a  limbuspatrinn,  or  hterary  purgatory,  where  the 
effrontery  and  ingratitude  of  folks  ostensibly  belonging  to  the  republic  of 
letters  are  to  be  visited  with  condign  retribution,  we  think  we  behold  in  that 
future  middle  state  of  purification  (which,  from  our  friend's  real  name,  we  shall 
call  Patricks  Purgatory),  Pat  Lardner  rolling  the  Blarney  stone,  d  la  Sisyphus, 
up  the  hill  of  Science. 

Kat  ^j/y  "Ziffvcpou  ticrsioov  Kparsp^  aXyt'  £)(;oi»Ta 
Aaav  fiaaraX^ovTa  tteXoooiou  aficpOTspycTLU, 

AuTiS    ETTElTCt    TTSCOVOE    KvXlVOtTO    AAAS    ANAIAH2  ! 

And  now  we  return  to  the  progress  of  events  on  Watergrasshill,  and  to  matters 
more  congenial  to  the  taste  of  our  Regina. 

OLIVER  YORKE. 
Regent  Street,  ist  Jiuie,  1835. 


Furnival's  Inn,  May  14. 

Accept,  O  Queen !  my  compliments  congratulatory  on  the  unanimous  and 
most  rapturous  welcome  with  which  the  whole  literary  world  hath  met,  on  its 
first  entrance  into   life,   that  wonderful  and  more  than  Siamese  bantling  your 


42 


The  Works  of  Father  P^'oiit. 


"  Polyglot  edition  "  of  the  "Groves  of  Blarney."  Of  course,  various  are  the 
conjectures  of  the  gossips  in  Paternoster  Row  as  to  the  real  paternity  of  that 
"  most  delicate  monster  ;  "  and  some  have  the  unwarrantable  hardihood  to  hint 
that,  like  the  poetry  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  your  incomparable  lyric  must 
be  referred  to  a  joint-stock  sort  of  parentage  :  but,  entre  nous,  how  stupid  and 
mahgnant  are  all  such  insinuations  !  How  little  do  such  simpletons  suspect  or 
know  of  the  real  source  from  which  hath  emanated  that  rare  combination  of 
the  Teian  lyre  and  theTipperary  bagpipe — of  the  Ionian  dialect  blending  har- 
moniously with  the  Cork  brogue;  an  Irish  potato  seasoned  with  Attic  salt, 
and  the  humours  of  Donnybrook  wed  to  the  glories  of  Marathon  !  Verily, 
since  the  days  of  the  great  Complutensian  Polyglot  (by  the  compilation  of 
which  the  illustrious  Cardinal  Ximenes  so  endeared  himself  to  the  bibliomaniacal 
world),  since  the  appearance  of  that  still  grander  effort  of  the  "  Clarendon" 
at  Oxford,  the  "Tetrapla,"  originally  compiled  by  the  most  laborious  and 
eccentric  father  of  the  Church,  Origen  of  Alexandria,  nothing  has  issued  from 
the  press  in  a  completer  form  than  your  improved  quadruple  version  of  the 
"  Groves  of  Blarney."  The  celebrated  proverb,  lucus  d  non  lucendo,  so  often 
quoted  with  mahcious  meaning  and  for  invidious  purposes,  is  no  longer  applic- 
able Xo  your  "  Groves  :"  this  quaint  conceit  has  lost  its  sting,  and,  to  speak  in 
Gully's  phraseology,  you  have  taken  the  shine  out  of  it.  What  a  halo  of  glory, 
what  a  flood  of  lustre,  will  henceforth  spread  itself  over  that  romantic  "  plan- 
tation !"  How  oft  shall  its  echoes  resound  with  the  voice  of  song,  Greek, 
French,  or  Latin,  according  to  the  taste  or  birthplace  of  its  European  visitors ; 
all  charmed  with  its  shady  bowers,  and  enraptured  with  its  dulcet  melody  ! 
From  the  dusty  purlieus  of  High  Holborn,  where  I  pine  in  a  foetid  atmosphere, 
my  spirit  soars  afar  to  that  enchanting  scenery,  wafted  on  the  wings  of  poesy, 
and  transported  with  the  ecstasy  of  Elysium — 

"  Videor  pios 
Errare  per  lucos,  amoenge  • 

Quos  et  aquae  subeunt  et  aurae  !  " 

Mine  may  be  an  illusion,  a  hallucination,  an  "  amabilis  insania,"  if  you  will ; 
but  meantime,  to  find  some  solace  in  my  exile  from  the  spot  itself,  I  cannot 
avoid  poring,  with  more  than  antiquarian  relish,  over  the  different  texts  placed 
by  you  in  such  tasteful  juxtaposition,  anon  comparing  and  collating  each  par- 
ticular version  with  alternate  gusto — 

"  Amant  alterna  Camcenae." 

How  pure  and  pellucid  the  flow  of  harmony  !  how  resplendent  the  well-grouped 
images,  shining,  as  it  were,  in  a  sort  of  milky  way,  or  poetic  galaxy,  through 
your  glorious  columns ;  to  which  I  cannot  do  better  than  apply  a  line  of  St. 
Gregory  (the  accomplished  Greek  father)  of  Nazianzene — 

'H  <TO(pia'!  irriyt]  iv  /3j/3\ioi(rt  ptii ! 

A  great  minister  is  said  to  have  envied  his  foreign  secretary  the  ineffable  plea- 
sure of  reading  ' '  Don  Quixote  "  in  the  original  Spanish,  and  it  would,  no  doubt, 
be  a  rare  sight  to  get  a  peep  at  Lord  Palmerston's  French  notes  to  Talleyrand  ; 
but  how  I  pity  the  sorry  wight  who  hasn't  learnt  Greek  !  What  can  he  know 
of  the  recondite  meaning  of  certain  passages  in  the  "Groves?"  He  is  in- 
capacitated from  enjoying  the  full  drift  of  the  ode,  and  must  only  take-  it 
diluted,  or  Vclluti-cd,  in  the  common  English  version.  Norunt  fideles,  as  Tom 
Moore  says. 

F'or  my  part,  I  would  as  soon  see  such  a  periwig-pated  fellow  reading  your 
last  Nuniber,  and  fancying  himself  capable  of  understanding  the  full  scope  of 
the  poet,  as  to  behold  a  Greenwich  pensioner  with  a  wooden  leg  trying  to  run  a 
race  with  Atalanta  for  her  golden  apple,  or  a  fellow  with  a  modicum  quid  of 


Father  Protifs  Carousal,  43 

legal  knowledge  affecting  to  sit  and  look  big  under  a  chancellor's  peruke,  like 
Bridlegoose  on  the  woolsack.  In  verity,  gentlemen  of  the  lower  house  ought 
to  supplicate  Sir  Daniel  Sandford,  of  Glasgow,  to  give  them  a  few  lectures  on 
Greek,  for  the  better  intelligence  of  the  real  Blarney  style ;  and  I  doubt  not 
that  every  member  will  join  in  the  request,  except,  perhaps,  Joe  Hume,  who 
would  naturally  oppose  any  attempt  to  throw  light  on  Greek  matters,  for  reasons 
too  tedious  to  mention.      Verb.  sap. 

To  have  collected  in  his  youthful  rambles  on  the  continent,  and  to  have  dili- 
gently copied  in  the  several  libraries  abroad,  these  imperishable  versions  of  an 
immortal  song  was  the  pride  and  consolation  of  Father  Prout's  old  age,  and 
still,  by  one  of  those  singular  aberrations  of  mind  incident  to  all  great  men,  he 
could  never  be  prevailed  on  to  give  further  publicity  to  the  result  of  his  labours  ; 
thus  sitting  down  to  the  banquet  of  literature  with  the  egotistic  feehng  of  a 
churl.  He  would  never  listen  to  the  many  offers  from  interested  publishers, 
who  sought  for  the  prize  with  eager  competition ;  but  kept  the  song  in  manu- 
script on  detached  leaves,  despite  of  the  positive  injunction  of  the  sibyl  in  the 
^neid — 

"  Non  foliis  tu  carmina  manda, 
Ne  correpta  volent  rapidis  ludibria  ventis  ! " 

I  know  full  well  to  what  seriotis  imputations  I  make  myself  liable,  when  I  can- 
didly admit  that  I  did  not  come  by  the  treasure  lawfully  myself;  having,  as  I 
boldly  stated  in  the  last  Number  of  Regina,  filched  the  precious  papers, 
disjecti  tnembra  poeice,  when  the  table  was  being  cleared  by  Prout's  servant 
maid  for  the  subsequent  repast.  But  there  are  certain  "pious  frauds "  of  which 
none  need  be  ashamed  in  the  interests  of  science  :  and  when  a  great  medal- 
collector  (of  whom  "  Tom  England"  will  tell  you  the  particulars),  being,  on 
his  homeward  voyage  from  Egypt,  hotly  pursued  by  the  Algerines,  swallowed 
the  golden  series  of  the  Ptolemies,  who  ever  thought  of  blaming  Mr.  Dufour, 
as  he  had  purchased  in  their  human  envelope  these  recondite  coins,  for  having 
apphed  purgatives  and  emetics,  and  every  possible  stratagem,  to  come  at  the 
deposit  of  glory? 

But  to  describe  "  the  repast "  has  now  become  my  solemn  duty — a  task  im- 
posed on  me  by  you,  O  Queen  !  to  whom  nothing  relating  to  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
or  to  Father  Prout,  appears  to  be  uninteresting.  In  that  I  agree  with  you,  for 
nothing  to  my  mind  comes  recommended  so  powerfully  as  what  hath  apper- 
tained to  these  two  great  ornaments  of  "humanity;"  which  term  I  must  be 
understood  to  use  in  its  double  sense,  as  relating  to  mankind  in  general,  and  in 
particular  to  the  literce  humaniores,  of  which  you  and  I  are  rapturously  fond, 
as  Terence  was  before  we  were  bom,  according  to  the  hackneyed  line — 

"Homo  sum  :  humani  nihil  h  me  alienum  puto  ! " 

That  banquet  was  in  sooth  no  ordinary  jollification,  no  mere  bout  of  sensuality, 
but  a  philosophic  and  rational  commingling  of  mind,  with  a  pleasant  and  succu- 
lent addition  of  matter— a  blending  of  soul  and  substance,  typified  by  the  union 
of  Cupid  and  Psyche — a  compound  of  strange  ingredients,  in  which  a  large  in- 
fusion of  what  are  called  (in  a  very  Irish-looking  phrase)  "animal  spirits" 
coalesced  with  an  abundance  of  distilled  ambrosia ;  not  without  much  erudite 
observation,  and  the  interlude  of  jovial  song  ;  wit  contending  for  supremacy 
with  learning,  and  folly  asserting  her  occasional  predominance  like  the  tints  of 
the  rainbow  in  their  tout  ensemble,  or  like  the  smile  and  the  tear  in  Erin's  left 
eye,  when  that  fascinating  creature  has  taken  "a  drop  "  of  her  own  mountain 
dew.  But  though  there  were  lots  of  fun  at  Prout's  table  at  all  times,  which  the 
lack  of  provisions  never  could  interfere  with  one  way  or  another,  I  have  special 
reason  for  recording  in  full  the  particulars  of  this  carousal,  having  learned 
with  indignation  that,  since  the  appearance  of  the  Father's  "Apology  for 


44  T^hc  Wo7'ks  of  Father  ProiU. 

Lent,"  calumny  has  been  busy  with  his  character,  and  attributed  his  taste  for 
meagre  diet  to  a  sordid  principle  of  economy.  No  !  Prout  was  not  a  penurious 
wretch  !  And  since  it  has  been  industriously  circulated  in  the  club-houses  at 
the  west-end,  that  he  never  gave  a  dinner  in  his  life,  by  the  statement  of  07U 
stubborn  fact  I  must  silence  for  ever  that  "  whisper  of  a  faction." 

From  the  first  moment  of  delight,  when  the  perusal  of  George  Knapp's 
letter  (dated  July  25,  1825)  had  apprised  Prout  of  the  visit  intended  by  Sir 
Walter  Scott  to  the  Blarney  stone,  he  had  predetermined  that  the  Great 
Unknown  should  partake  of  sacerdotal  hospitality.  I  recollect  well  on  that 
evening  (for  you  are  aware  I  was  then  on  a  visit  to  my  aunt  at  Watergrasshill, 
and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  happened  to  be  in  the  priests  parlour  when  the 
news  came  by  express)  how  often  he  was  heard  to  mutter  to  himself,  as  if 
resolving  the  mighty  project  of  a  "let  out,"  in  that  beautiful  exclamation, 
borrowed  from  his  favourite  Milton — 

"What  neat  repast  shall  feast  us,  light  and  choice, 
Of  Attic  taste  with  wine?" 

I  then  foresaw  that  there  really  would  be  "  a  dinner,  "  and  sure  enough  there 
was  no  mistake,  for  an  entertainment  ensued,  such  as  the  refinement  of  a 
scholar  and  the  tact  of  a  well-informed  and  observant  traveller  naturally  and 
unaffectedly  produced,  with  the  simple  but  not  less  acceptable  materials  which 
circumstances  allowed  of,  and  a  style  as  far  removed  from  the  selfishness  of  the 
anchorite  as  the  extravagance  of  the  glutton. 

Prout  had  seen  much  of  mankind  ;  and  in  his  deportment  through  life 
showed  that  he  was  well  versed  in  all  tliose  varied  arts  of  easy,  but  still  gradual 
acquirement,  which  singularly  embellish  the  intercourse  of  society  :  these 
were  the  results  of  his  excellent  continental  education — 

rioWoji/  6'  ai/OpcoTTwu  loov  aana,  Kai  voov  i.yvui. 

But  at  the  head  of  his  own  festive  board  he  particularly  shone  ;  for  though  in 
his  ministerial  functions  he  was  exemplary  and  admirable,  ever  meek  and  un- 
affected at  the  altar  of  his  rustic  chapel,  where 

"His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place," 

still,  surrounded  by  a  few  choice  friends,  the  calibre  of  whose  genius  was  in 
unison  with  his  own,  with  abottle  of  his  choice  old  claret  before  him,  hewas  truly 
a  paragon.  I  say  claret ;  for  when,  in  his  youthful  career  of  early  travel,  he 
had  sojourned  at  Bonrdeaux  in  1776,  he  had  formed  an  acquaintanceship  with 
the  then  representatives  of  the  still  flourishing  house  of  Maccarthy  and  Co. ;  and 
if  the  prayers  of  the  old  priest  are  of  any  avail,  that  firm  will  long  prosper  in 
the  splendid  capital  of  Gascony.  This  long-remembered  acquaintanceship  was 
periodically  refreshed  by  many  a  quarter  cask  of  excellent  incdoc,  which  found 
its  way  (no  matter  how)  up  the  rugged  by-roads  of  Watergrasshill  to  the  sacer- 
dotal cellar. 

Nor  was  the  barren  upland,  of  which  he  was  the  pastor  (and  which  will  one 
day  be  as  celebrated  for  having  been  his  residence  as  it  is  now  for  water-cresses), 
so  totally  estranged  from  the  wickedness  of  the  world,  and  so  exalted  above  the 
common  level  of  Irish  highlands,  that  no  luhisky  was  to  be  found  there  ;  for 
though  Prout  never  openly  countenanced,  he  still  tolerated  Davy  Draddy  s 
public-house  at  the  sign  of  the  "  Mnllow  Cavalry."  But  there  is  a  spirit  (an 
evil  one)  which  pays  no  duty  to  the  King,  under  pretence  of  having  paid  it  to 
Her  Majesty  the  Queen  (God  bless  her  !) — a  spirit  which  would  even  tempt  you, 
O  Regina  !  to  forsake  the  even  tenour  of  your  ways — a  spirit  which  Father 
Prout  could  never  effectually  chain  down  in  the  Rod  Sea,  where  every  foul 
demon  ought  to  lie  in  durance  until  the  vials  of  wrath  are  finally  poured  out  on 
this  sinful  world — that  spirit,  endowed  with  a  smoky  fragrance,  as  if  to  indi- 


Father  Pronfs  Carousal.  45 

cate  its  caliginous  origin — not  a  drop  of  it  would  he  give  Sir  \\'alter.  He 
would  have  wished,  such  was  his  anxiety  to  protect  the  morals  of  his 
parishioners  from  the  baneful  effects  of  private  distillation,  that  what  is  called 
technically  "  mountain-dew"  were  never  heard  of  in  the  district;  and  that  in 
this  respect  W'atergrasshill  had  resembled  the  mountain  of  Gilboa,  in  the 
country  of  the  Philistines. 

But  of  legitimate  and  excellent  malt  whisky  he  kept  a  constant  supply, 
through  the  friendship  of  Joe  Hayes,  a  capital  fellow,  who  presides,  with  great 
credit  to  himself,  and  to  his  native  city,  over  the  spiritual  concerns  of  the  Glin 
Distillery.  Through  his  intelligent  superintendence,  he  can  boast  of  maintain- 
ing an  unextinguishable  furnace  and  a  worm  that  never  dies  ;  and  O  !  may  he 
in  the  next  life,  through  Front's  good  prayers,  escape  both  one  and  the  other. 
This  whisky,  the  pious  offering  of  Joe  Hayes  to  his  confessor.  Father  Prout, 
was  carefully  removed  out  of  harm's  way  ;  and  even  I  myself  was  considerably 
puzzled  to  find  out  where  the  good  divine  had  the  habit  of  concealing  it,  until 
I  got  the  secret  out  of  Margaret,  his  servant-maid,  who,  being  a  'cute  girl,  had 
suggested  the  hiding-place  herself.  I  don't  know  whether  you  recollect  my 
description,  in  your  April  Number,  of  the  learned  Father's  bookcase  and  the 
folio  volumes  of  stone-flag  inscribed  "  Corn'ELII  A  Lapide  O/^ra  qucs  ext. 
omti. :"  well,  behind  them  lay  hidden  the  whisky  in  a  pair  of  jars — 

For  buxom  Maggj',  careful  soul, 

Had  two  stone  bottles  found. 
To  hold  the  liquor  that  Prout  loved. 

And  kept  it  safe  and  sound. 

• 

Orders  had  been  given  to  this  same  Margaret  to  kill  a  turkey,  in  the  first 
impulse  of  the  good  old  man's  mind,  "  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent :"  but, 
alas  !  when  the  fowl  had  been  slain,  in  accordance  with  his  hasty  injunctions, 
he  bethought  himself  of  the  melancholy  fact,  that  the  morrow  being  Friday, 
fish  diet  was  imperative,  and  that  the  death-warrant  of  the  turkey  had  been'a 
most  premature  and  ill-considered  act  of  precipitancy.  The  corpus  delicti  was 
therefore  hung  up  in  the  kitchen,  to  furnish  forth  the  Sunday's  dinner  next 
ensuing,  and  his  thoughts  of  necessity  ran  into  a  piscatory  channel.  He  had 
been  angling  all  day,  and  happily  with  considerable  success  ;  so  that,  what  with 
a  large  eel  he  had  hooked  out  of  the  lake  at  Blarney,  and  two  or  three  dozen 
of  capital  trout  from  the  stream,  he  might  emulate  the  exploit  of  that  old 
Calabrian  farmer,  who  entertained  Virgil  on  the  produce  of  his  hives  ; 

"  Seraque  revertens 
Xocte  domum,  dapibus  mensas  onerabat  inemptis." 

But  when  Prout  did  the  thing,  he  did  it  respectably  :  this  was  no  ordinary 
occasion — ' '  pot  luck  "  would  not  do  here.  And  though  he  bitterly  deplored  the 
untoward  coincidence  of  the  fast-day  on  the  arrival  of  Sir  Walter,  and  was 
heard  to  mutter  something  from  Horace  very  like  an  imprecation,  viz.  *' Ille 
et  yiefasto  te  posuit  die,  quiciunque,"  Sec,  Sec;  still  it  would  ill  become  the 
author  of  an  "  Apology  for  Lent  "  to  despair  of  getting  up  a  good  fish  dinner. 

In  this  emergency  he  summoned  Terry  Callaghan,  a  genius  infinitely 
superior  even  to  the  man-of-all-work  at  Ravenswood  Castle,  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  Caleb  Balderstone.  Terry  Callaghan  (of  whom  we  suspect  we  shall 
have,  on  many  a  future  occasion,  much  to  recount,  ere  the  star  of  Father 
Prout  shall  eclipse  itself  in  the  firmament  of  Regixa),  Terry  Callaghan  is  a 
cliaracter  well  known  in  the  Arcadian  neighbourhood  of  Watergrasshill,  the 
life  and  soul  of  the  village  itself,  where  he  officiates  to  this  day  as  "pound- 
keeper,"  "grave-digger,"  "notary  public,"  and  "  parish  piper."  In  addition  to 
these  situations  of  trust  and  emolument,  he  occasionally  stands  as  deputy  at 
the  turnpike  on  the  mail-coach  road,  where  he  was  last  seen  with  a  short  pipe 


46  Tlie  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


in  his  mouth,  and  a  huge  black  crape  round  his  "caubeen,"  being  in  mourning 
for  the  subject  of  these  memoirs.  He  also  is  employed  on  Sundays  at  the 
chapel-door  to  collect  the  coppers  of  the  faithful,  and,  like  the  dragon  of  the 
Hesperides,  keeps  watch  over  the  "box"  with  untamable  fierceness,  never 
having  allowed  a  rap  to  be  subtracted  for  the  O'Connell  tribute,  or  any  other 
humbug,  to  the  great  pecuniary  detriment  of  the  Derrynane  dynasty.  In  the 
palace  at  Iveragh,  where  a  geographical  chart  is  displayed  on  the  wall,  showing 
at  a  glance  the  topography  of  the  "  rint,'' and  exhibiting  all  those  districts, 
from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  where  the  copper-mines  are  most  productive,  the 
parish  of  Watergrasshill  is  marked  "all  barren;"  Terry  very  properly  con- 
sidering that,  if  there  was  any  surplus  in  the  poor-box,  it  could  be  better  placed, 
without  going  out  of  the  precincts  of  that  wild  and  impoverished  tract,  in  the 
palm  of  squalid  misery,  than  in  the  all-absorbing  Charv'bdis,  the  breeches- 
pocket  of  our  glorious  Dan. 

Such  was  the  "Mercury  new-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill,"  to  whom 
Prout  delivered  \i\s  provisional  orders  for  the  market  of  Cork  ;  and  early,  with 
a  hamper  on  his  back,  at  the  dawn  of  that  important  day  which  settled  into  so 
glorious  an  evening  of  fun  and  conviviality,  Terry  set  off  to  lay  the  foundation 
of  the  whole  affair  at  the  fish-stall  kept  by  that  celebrated  dame  de  la  halle,  the 
Widow  Desmond.  Pursuant  to  directions,  he  bought  a  turbot,  two  lobsters,  a 
salmon,  and  a  hake,  with  a  hundred  of  Cork-harbour  oysters ;  and  considering, 
prudently,  that  a  corps  de  reserve  might  be  wanted  in  the  course  of  the  repast, 
he  added  to  the  aforesaid  matters,  which  Prout  had  himself  specified,  a  hors 
d'cEuvre  of  his  own  selection,  viz.  a  keg  of  cod-sounds;  he  having  observed 
that  on  all  state  occasions,  when  Prout  entertained  his  bishop,  he  had  always, 
to  suit  his  lordship's  taste,  Z-plat  oblige  of  cod-sounds,  "  by  particular  desire."' 

At  the  same  time  he  was  commissioned  to  deliver  sundry  notes  of  invitation 
to  certain  choice  spirits,  who  try  to  keep  in  whoresome  agitation,  by  the  buoy- 
ancy of  their  wit  and  hilarity,  the  otherwise  stagnant  pond  of  Corkonian 
society  ;  citizens  of  varied  humour  and  diversified  accomplishments,  but  of 
whom  the  highest  praise  and  the  most  comprehensive  eulogy  cannot  convey 
more  to  the  British  public  than  the  simple  intimation  of  their  having  been 
"  the  friends  of  Father  Prout  :"  for  while  Job's  Arabian  "  friends  "  will  be  re- 
membered only  as  objects  of  abhorrence,  Front's  associates  will  be  cherished 
by  the  latest  posterity.  These  were.  Jack  Bellew,  Dan  Corbet,  Dick  Dowden, 
Bob  Olden,  and  Friar  O'Meara. 

Among  these  illustrious  names,  to  be  henceforth  embalmed  in  the  choicest 
perfume  of  classic  recollection,  you  will  find  on  inquiry,  O  Queen  !  men  of  all 
parties  and  religious  persuasions,  men  of  every  way  of  thinking  in  politics  and 
polemics,  but  who  merged  all  their  individual  feelings  in  the  broad  expanse  of 
one  common  philanthropy  ;  for  at  Front's  table  the  serene  horizon  of  the  festive 
board  was  never  clouded  by  the  suffusion  of  controversy's  gloomy  vapours,  or 
the  mephitic  feuds  of  party  condition.  .And,  O  most  peace-loving  Regina  ! 
should  it  ever  suit  your  fancy  to  go  on  a  trip  to  Ireland,  be  on  your  guard 
against  the  foul  and  troublesome  nuisance  of  speech-makers  and  political 
oracles,  of  whatever  class,  who  infest  that  otherwise  happy  island  :  betake  thy- 
self to  the  hospitable  home  of  Dan  Corbet,  or  some  such  good  and  rational 
circle  of  Irish  society,  where  never  will  a  single  drop  of  acrimony  be  found  to 
mingle  in  the  disembosomings  of  feeling  and  the  perennial  flow  of  soul — 

"Sic  tibi  cum  fluctus  pra;ter!abere  Sicanos, 
Doris  amara  suam  non  intermisceat  undam  !  " 

But,  in  describing  Front's  guests,  rank  and  precedency  belong  of  right  to 
that  great  modern  ruler  of  mankind,  "the  I'ress ;  "  and  therefore  do  we 
first  apply  ourselves    to   the    delineation  of  the    merits    of  Jack    Bellew,  its 


Father  Proufs  Carousal,  47 

significant  representative — he  being  the  wondrous  editor  of  that  most  accom- 
plished newspaper,  the  Cork  Chronicle. 

Jack  Montesquieu  Bellew  *  {quern  honoris  causS,  nomifio)  was — I  say  was, 
for,  alas !  he  too  is  no  more  :  Proufs  death  was  too  much  for  him,  'twas  a 
blow  from  which  he  never  recovered ;  and  since  then  he  was  N-isibly  so  heart- 
broken at  the  loss  of  his  friend  that  he  did  nothing  but  droop,  and  soon 
died  of  what  the  doctor  said  was  a  decline; — Jack  was  the  very  image  of  his 
own  Chronicle,  and  vice  versa,  the  Chronicle  was  the  faithful  mirror  {ticucXov, 
or  alter  ego)  of  Jack  :  both  one  and  the  other  were  the  queerest  concerns  in 
the  south  of  Ireland.  The  post  of  editor  to  a  country  newspaper  is  one, 
generally  speaking,  attended  with  sundry  troubles  and  tribulations ;  for  even 
the  simple  department  of  "deaths,  births,  and  marriages,"  would  require  a 
host  of  talent  and  a  superhuman  tact  to  satisfy  the  vanity  of  the  subscribers, 
without  making  them  ridiculous  to  their  next  neighbours.  Now  Bellew  didn't 
care  a  jot  who  came  into  the  world  or  who  left  it ;  and  thus  he  made  no 
enemies  by  a  too  niggardly  panegyric  of  their  kindred  and  deceased  relations. 
There  was  an  exception,  however,  in  favour  of  an  old  subscriber  to  the 
"paper,"  whose  death  was  usually  commemorated  by  a  rim  of  mourning  at 
the  edges  of  the  Chronicle  :  and  it  was  particularly  when  the  subcsription  had 
not  been  paid  (which,  indeed,  was  generally  the  case)  that  the  emblems  of 
sorrow  were  conspicuous — so  much  so,  that  you  could  easily  guess  at  the 
amount  of  the  arrears  actually  due,  from  the  proportionate  breadth  of  the 
black  border,  which  in  some  instances  was  prodigious.  But  Jack's  attention 
was  principally  turned  to  the  affairs  of  the  Continent,  and  he  kept  an  eye  on 
Russia,  an  eye  of  vigilant  observation,  which  considerably  annoyed  the  czar, 
In  vain  did  Pozzo  di  Borgo  endeavour  to  silence,  or  purchase,  or  intimidate 
Bellew  ;  he  was  to  the  last  an  uncompromising  opponent  of  the  ' '  miscreant  of 
the  North."  The  opening  of  the  trade  to  China  was  a  favourite  measure  with 
our  editor;  for  he  often  complained  of  the  bad  tea  sold  at  the  sign  of  the 
"  Elephant,"  on  the  Parade.  He  took  part  with  Don  Pedro  against  the  Serene 
Infanta  Don  Miguel;  but  that  was  attributed  to  a  sort  of  Platonic  he  felt  for 
the  fascinating  Donna  Maria  da  Gloria.  As  to  the  great  question  of  repale, 
he  was  too  sharp  not  to  see  the  full  absurdity  of  that  brazen  imposture.  He 
endeavoured,  however,  to  suggest  ■di  juste  millieu,  a  medius  terminus,  between 
the  politicians  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  the  common-sense  portion 
of  the  Cork  community  ;  and  his  plan  was, — to  hold  an  imperial  par liajnent 
for  the  three  kitigdoms' on  the  Isle  of  Man  !  But  he  failed  in  procuring  the 
adoption  of  his  conciliatory  sentiments.  Most  Irish  provincial  papers  keep 
a  London  "private  correspondent" — some  poor  devil,  who  writes  from  a 
blind  alley  in  St.  Giles's,  with  the  most  graphic  minuteness,  and  a  truly 
laughable  hatred  of  myscery,  all  about  matters  occurring  at  the  cabinet  meet- 
ings of  Downing  Street,  or  in  the  most  impenetrable  circles  of  diplomacy. 
Jack  despised  such  fudge,  became  his  own  "London  private  correspondent," 
and  addressed  to  himself  long  communications  dated  from  Whitehall.  The 
most  useful  intelligence  was  generally  found  in  this  epistolary  form  of 
soliloquy.  But  in  the  "fashionable  world,"  and  "News  from  the  beau 
monde,"  the  Chronicle  was  unrivalled.  The  latest  and  most  recherchi  modes, 
the  newest  Parisian  fashions,  were  carefully  described  ;  notwithstanding  which, 

*  How  the  surname  of  the  illustrious  author  of  the  Esprit  de  Lois  came  to  be  used  by 
the  Bellews  in  Ireland  has  puzzled  the  Heralds'  College.  Indeed,  many  other  Irish 
names  offer  a  wide  field  for  genealogical  inquirj'- :  e.g. ,  Sir  Hercules  Langhrish,  Ccssar 
Otway,  Eneas  MacDonnell,  Ha7tnibal  Plunkett,  Ebenezer  Jacob,  Jonah  Barrington 
(this  last  looks  verj'  like  a  whale).  That  the  Bellews  dealt  largely  in  spirits  appears  to 
be  capable  oi  proof :  at  any  rate,  there  was  never  any  propensity  for  Vesprit  des  Ids, 
Y^a.tever  might  he  the  penc/innt  for  7ai/a7Lful  spirit,  at  the  family  mansion  Knock  an 
isqueizi—Anglice  Mount  ^Vhisky,  Gallice  Ivlontesquieu. 


48  TJie  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 

Jack  himself,  like  Diogenes  or  Sir  Charles  Wetherell,  went  about  in  a  most 
ragged  habiliment.  To  speak  with  Shakespeare,  though  not  well  dressed 
himself,  he  was  the  cause  of  dress  in  others.  His  finances,  alas  !  were  always 
miserably  low;  no  fitting  retribution  was  ever  the  result  of  his  literary  labours; 
and  of  him  might  be  said  what  we  read  in  a  splendid  fragment  of  Petronius 
Arbiter, — 

"Sola  pruinosis  horret  facundia  pannis, 
Atque  inopi  lingua  disertas  invocat  artes  I" 

Such  was  Bellew ;  and  next  to  him  of  political  importance  in  public  estima- 
tion was  the  celebrated  Dick  Dowden,  the  great  inventor  of  the  "  pyroligneous 
acid  for  curing  bacon."  He  was  at  one  time  the  deservedly  popular  librarian 
of  the  Royal  Cork  Institution;  but  since  then  he  has  risen  to  eminence  as  the 
greatest  soda-water  manufacturer  in  the  south  of  Ireland,  and  has  been 
unanimously  chosen  by  the  sober  and  reflecting  portion  of  his  fellow-citizens 
to  be  the  perpetual  president  of  the  "Cork  Temperance  Society."  He  is  a 
Presbyterian — but  I  believe  I  have  already  said  he  was  concerned  in  vinegar.* 
He  is  a  great  admirer  of  Dr.  Bowring,  and  of  the  Rajah  Rammohun  Roy; 
and  some  think  him  inclined  to  favour  the  new  Utilitarian  philosophy.  But 
why  do  I  spend  my  time  in  depicting  a  man  so  well  known  as  Dick  Dowden? 
Who  has  not  heard  of  Dick  Dowden  ?  I  pity  the  wretch  to  whom  his  name 
and  merits  are  unknown  ;  for  he  argi>es  himself  a  dunce  that  knows  not 
Dowden,  and  deserves  the  anathema  pronounced  by  Goldsmith  against  his 
enemies, — 

"To  eat  mutton  cold,  and  cut  blocks  with  a  razor  !  " 

Talking  of  razors,  the  transition  to  our  third  guest,  Bob  Olden  is  most 
smooth  and  natural — Olden,  the  great  inventor  of  the  wonderful  shaving- 
lather,  called  by  the  Greeks  eukeirogen'eion  {Y.\jKf.ipoyivi.i.ov)  ! — Olden,  the 
reproducer  of  an  Athenian  cosmetic,  and  the  grand  discoverer  of  the  patent 
"Trotter-oil,"  for  the  growth  of  the  human  hair  ;  a  citizen  of  infinite  worth 
and  practical  usefulness  ;  a  high  churchman  eke  was  he,  and  a  Tory  ;  but  his 
"conservative  "  excellence  was  chiefly  applicable  to  the  epidermis  of  the  chin, 
which  he  effectually  preserved  by  the  incomparable  lather  of  his  Y-vKtiooyivtiov  \ 
an  invention  that  would,  to  use  the  words  of  a  Cork  poet, 

"  Bid  even  a  Jew  bid  adieu  to  his  beard." 
But  Dan  Corbet,  the  third  guest,  was  a  real  trump,  the  very  quintessence 
of  fun  and  frolic,  and  of  all  Prout's  friends  the  one  of  whom  he  was  most 
particularly  proud.  He  is  the  principal  dentist  of  the  Munster  district — a 
province  where  a  tooth-ache  is  much  rarer,  unfortunately  for  dentists,  than  a 
broken  head  or  a  black  eye.  In  Corbet,  the  kindliest  of  human  beings,  and 
sincerest  of  Corkonians,  the  buttermilk  of  human  friendliness  was  ever  found 
in  plentiful  exuberance ;  while  the  loud  laugh  and  the  jocund  song  bespoke 
the  candour  of  his  soul.  Never  was  a  professor  of  odontology  less  pedantic 
or  less  given  to  quackery.  His  ante-chamber  was  always  full  of  patients, 
awaiting  his  presence  with  pleasurable  anticipation,  and  some  were  known  to 
feign  a  tooth-ache,  in  order  to  have  a  pleasant  interview  with  the  dentist. 
When  he  made  his  appearance  in  his  morning  gown  before  the  crowd  of 
afflicted  visitors,  a  general  titter  of  cheerfulness  enhvened  the  visages  of  the 
sufferers  ;  and  I  can  only  compare  the  effect  produced  by  his  presence  to  the 
welcome  of  Scarron  on  the  banks  of  the  Styx,  when  that  man  of  wondrous 
hilarity  went  down  to  the  region  of  the  ghosts  as  a  dispeller  of  sorrow  : 

"  SoU"untur  risu  mocstissima  turba  silentum, 
Ctlm  venit  ad  Stygias  Scarro  facetus  aquas." 

*  "A  Quaker,  sly  ;  a  Presbyterian,  sour." — Pope. 


Father  Front's  Carousal,  49 

I  have  only  one  thing  to  say  against  Corbet.  At  his  hospitable  table,  where, 
without  extravagance,  every  good  dish  is  to  be  found,  a  dessert  generally 
follows  remarkable  for  the  quantity  and  iron-hardness  of  the  walnuts,  while 
not  a  nutcracker  can  be  had  for  love  or  money  from  any  of  the  servants.  Now 
this  is  too  bad :  for  you  must  know,  that  next  morning  most  of  the  previous 
^//dTj/i  reappear  in  the  character  oi  patients  ;  and  the  nuts  (hke  the  dragon- 
teeth  sown  in  a  field  by  Cadmus)  produce  a  harvest  of  lucrative  visitors  to  the 
cabinet  of  the  professor.  Ought  not  this  system  to  be  abolished,  O  Queen  ! 
and  is  it  any  justification  or  palliation  of  such  an  enormity  to  know  that  the 
bane  and  antidote  are  both  before  one^  When  I  spoke  of  it  to  Corbet,  he 
only  smiled  at  my  simplicity,  and  quoted  the  precedent  in  Horace  (for  he  is  a 
good  classic  scholar), 

"  Et  nux  omabat  mensam,  cun.  duplice  ficu." 

Lib.  ii.  sat.  2. 

But  I  immediately  pointed  out  to  him,  that  he  reversed  the  practice  of  the 
Romans  ;  for,  instead  of  the  figs  bemg  in  double  ratio  to  the  nuts,  it  was  the 
latter  v.ith  him  that  predominated  in  quantity,  besides  being  pre-eminently 
hard  when  submitted  to  the  double  action  of  that  delicate  lever  the  human 
jaw,  which  nature  never  (except  in  some  instances,  and  these  more  apparent, 
perhaps,  in  the  conformation  of  the  nose  and  chin)  intended  for  a  nut-cracker. 

Of  Friar  O'Meara  there  is  httle  to  be  said.  Prout  did  not  think  much  of 
friars  in  general ;  indeed,  at  all  times  the  working  parochial  clergy  in  Ireland 
have  looked  on  them  as  a  kind  of  undisciplined  Cossacks  in  the  service  of  the 
church  militant,  of  whom  it  cannot  conveniently  get  rid,  but  who  are  much 
better  adepts  in  sharing  the  plunder  than  in  labouring  to  earn  it.  The  good 
father  often  explained  to  me  how  the  matter  stood,  and  how  the  bishop 
wanted  to  regulate  these  friars,  and  make  them  work  for  the  instruction  of  the 
poor,  instead  of  their  present  lazy  life ;  but  they  were  a  match  for  him  at 
Rome,  where  none  dare  whisper  a  word  against  one  of  the  fraternity  of  the 
CGwl.  There  are  some  papers  in  the  Prout  collection  on  this  subject,  which 
(when  you  get  the  chest)  will  explain  all  to  you.  O'Meara  (who  was  not 
the  "Voice  from  St.  Helena,"  though  he  sometimes  passed  for  that  gentle- 
man on  the  Continent)  was  a  pleasant  sort  of  fellow,  not  ver}'  deep  in  divinity 
or  black-lettered  knowledge  of  any  kind,  but  conversable  and  chatty,  having 
frequently  accompanied  young  'squires,  as  travelling  tutor  to  Italy,  much  in 
the  style  of  those  learned  functionaries  who  lead  a  dancing-bear  through  the 
market-towns  of  England.  There  was  no  dinner  within  seven  miles  of  Cork 
without  O'Meara.  Full  soon  would  his  keen  nostril,  ever  upturned  (as  Milton 
sayeth)  into  the  murky  air,  have  snuffed  the  scent  of  culinary  preparation  in 
the  breeze  that  came  from  W'atergrasshill  :  therefore  it  was  that  Prout  sent 
him  a  note  of  invitation,  knowing  he  woiild  come,  whether  or  no. 

Such  were  the  guests  who,  with  George  Knapp  and  myself,  formed  the 
number  of  the  elect  to  dine  with  Sir  Walter  at  the  father's  humble  board ; 
and  when  the  covers  were  removed  (grace  having  been  said  by  Prout  in  a 
style  that  would  have  rejoiced  the  sentimental  Sterne)  a  glorious  vision  of  fish 
was  unfolded  to  the  raptured  sight  ;  and  I  confess  I  did  not  much  regret  the 
absence  of  the  turkey,  whose  plump  carcase  I  could  get  an  occasional 
glimpse  of,  hanging  from  the  roof  of  the  kitchen.  We  ate,  and  confabulated 
as  follows  : — 

"I  don't  approve,"  said  Bob  Olden,  "of  Homer's  ideas  as  to  a  social 
entertainment :  he  does  not  let  his  heroes  converse  rationally  until  long  after 
they  have  sat  down  to  table,  or,  as  Pope  vulgarly  translates  it, 

*  Soon  as  the  rage  of  hunger  is  repressed.' 

Now  I  think  that  a  very  gross  way  of  proceeding." 


so  TJic  Works  of  Father  Front. 

O'.MEAKA. 

In  our  convent  we  certainly  keep  up  the  observance,  such  a.s  Pope  has  it. 
The  repast  is  divided  into  three  distinct  periods ;  and  in  the  conventual  refec- 
tory you  can  easily  distinguish  at  what  stage  of  the  feeding  time  the  brother- 
hood are  engaged.  The  first  is  called  i°,  altum  silcntium  ;  then  2°,  clangor 
dent i  117)1, ■  then,  3°,  rumor  gentium, 

CORBET. 

I  protest  against  the  personal  allusion  contained  in  that  second  item.  You 
are  always  making  mischief,  O'Meara. 

BELLEW. 

I  hope  that  when  the  friars  talk  of  the  news  of  the  day, — for  such,  I  suppose, 
is  the  meaning  of  rumor  gentium, — they  previously  have  read  the  private 
London  correspondence  of  the  Cork  Chronicle. 

PROUT. 

Sir  \\'alter,  perhaps  you  would  wish  to  begin  with  a  fresh  egg,  c{b  ova,  as 
Horace  recommends;  or  perhaps  you'd  prefer  the  order  described  by  Pliny,  in 
his  letter  to  Septimus,  i",  a  radish;  2°,  three  snails ;  and  3',  tv:o  eggs,*  or 
oysters  ad  libitutn,  as  laid  down  by  Macrobius.j 

SCOTT. 

Thank  you,  I  can  manage  with  this  slice  of  salmon  trout.  I  can  relish 
the  opinion  of  that  great  ornament  of  your  church,  Thomas  a  Kempis,  to 
whose  taste  nothing  was  more  delicious  than  a  salmon,  always  excepting  the 
Psalms  of  David!  as  he  properly  says,  Mihi  Psalmi  Davidici  sapiunt 
salmones  .'X 

PROUT. 

That  was  not  a  bad  idea  of  Tom  Kempis.  But  my  favourite  author,  St. 
Chrysostom,  surpasses  him  in  wit.  When  talking  of  the  sermon  on  the  Lake 
of  Tiberias,  he  marvels  at  the  singular  position  of  the  auditory  relative  to 
the  preacher  :  his  words  are  Af.iz/oi/  ^taixa.,  o\  iy^\ji<i  etti  Tijy  yfju,  kul  o  dAuus 
ev  OaXamj  !  Serm.  de  Nov.  et  Vet.  Test. 

o'meaka. 
That  is  a  capital  turbot,  O  Prout  !   and,   instead  of   talking  Greek   and 
quoting  old  Chrysostom  (the  saint  with  the  golden  mouth),  you  ought  to  be 
helping  Jack  Bellew  and  George  Knapp. — -"What  sauce  is  that? 

PROUT. 

The  senate  of  Rome  decided  the  sauce  long  ago,  by  order  of  Domitian,  as 
Juvenal  might  tell  you,  or  even  the  French  translation — 

"  Le  senat  mit  aux  voLv  cette  affaire  importante, 
Et  le  turbot  fut  mis  d  la  sauce piqicante." 

*  Vide  Plin.  Ep.  ad  Septim,  where  he  acquaints  us  with  the  proper  manner  of  com- 
mencing operations.     His  words  are,  "  Lactucas  singulas,  cochleas  tres.  ova  bina."     Our 
cockle  and  the  French  word  cniller,  a  spoon,  are  derived  from  the   Latin  cochleare ;  of 
which  cochlea  (a  snail  or  periwinkle)  is  the  root.     Thus  we  read  in  Martial — 
"  .Sum  cochleis  habilis,  sed  nee  magis  utilis  ovis  ; 
Numquid  scis  potius  cur  cochleare  vocer?" 

+  In  the  third  book  of  his  ".Saturnalia,"  Macrobius,  describing  the  feast  given  by  the 
Flamen  Lentuius  to  the  Roman  people  on  his  installation  to  office,  praises  the  host's 
generosity,  inasmuch  as  he  opened  the  banquet  by  providing  as  a  whet  "  ostreas  ctmdas 
quantum  quisque  vcllet." 

X  See  the  Elzevir  edition  of  Thorn,  a  Kempis,  in  vitd,  p.  246. 


il 


FatJier  Proufs  Carousal,  51 


KNAPP. 

Sir  Walter  !  as  it  has  been  my  distinguished  lot— a  circumstance  that  con- 
fers everlasting  glory  on  my  mayoralty— to  have  had  the  honour  of  present- 
ino-  you  yesterday  with  the  freedom  of  the  corporation  of  Cork,  allow  me  to 
present  you  with 'our  next  best  ihmg,  a  potato. 

SCOTT. 

I  have  received  with  pride  the  municipal  franchise,  and  I  now  accept  with 
equal  gratitude  the  more  substantial  gift  you  have 'handed  me,  in  this  capital 
esculent  of 'your  happy  country. 

PROUT. 

Our  round  towers,  Sir  Walter,  came  from  the  east,  as  will  be  one  day 
proved  ;  but  our  potatoes  came  from  the  West ;  Persia  sent  us  the  one,  and 
Virginia  the  other.  We  are  a  glorious  people  !  The  two  hemispheres 
minister  to  our  historic  recollections  ;  and  if  we  look  back  on  our  annals,  we 
get  drunk  with  glory  : 

"  For  when  hist'ry  begins  to  grow  dul]  in  the  east,  ^^ 
We  may  order  our  wings,  and  be  oft"  to  the  west.' 

May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  wine  with  you?    Gentlemen,  fill  all  round. 

SCOTT. 
I  intend  writing  a  somewhat  in  which  Sir  W^alter  Raleigh  shall  be  a  dis- 
tinguished and  prominent  character  ;  and  I  promise  you  the  potato  shall  not 
be  forgotten.     The  discovery  of  that  root  is  alone  sufficient  to  immortahze  the 
hero  who  lost  his  head  so  unjustly  on  Tower  Hill. 

KNAPP. 

Christopher  Columbus  was  equally  ill-treated  :  and  neither  he  nor  Raleigh 
have  ever  given  their  name  to  the  objects  they  discovered.  Great  men  have 
never  obtained  justice  from  their  contemporaries.— I'll  trouble  you  for  some  of 
the  fins  of  that  turbot,  Prout, 

PROUT. 

Nay,  further,  without  going  beyond  the  circle  of  this  festive  board,  why  has 
not  Europe  and  the  world  united  to  confer  some  signal  distinction  on  the 
useful  inventor  of  "  Pvroligneous  Acid?"  Why  is  not  the  discoverer  of 
"  Trotter  oil  "  and  "  Eukeirogeneion  "  fittingly  rewarded  by  mankind?  Because 
men  have  narrow  views,  and  prefer  erecting  columns  to  Spring  Rice,  and  to 
Bob  Waithman  who  sold  shawls  in  Fleet  Street.— Let  me  recommend  some 
lobster-sauce. 

,  CORBET. 

Minerva,  who  first  extracted  oil  from  the  olive,  was  deified  in  Greece  ;  and 
Olden  is  not  vet  even  a  member  of  the  dullest  scientific  body ;  while  Dr. 
Lardner  belongs  to  them  all,  if  I  can  understand  the  phalanx  of  letters  that 
follows  his  name. 

KNAPP. 

I  have  read  the  utilitarian  Doctor's  learned  treatise  on  the  potato— a 
subject  of  which  he  seems  to  understand  the  chemical  manipulation.  He 
says,  very  justly,  that  as  the  root  contains  saccharine  matter,  j/z^.^r  may  be 
extracted  therefrom  ;  he  is  not  sure  whether  it  might  not  be  distilled  mlo 
whisky;  but  he  is  certain  that  it  makes  capital  starch,  and  triumphantly 
shows  that  the  rind  can  feed  pigs,  and  the  stalk  thatch  the  pigsty.  O  iBost 
wonderful  Doctor  Lardner  !  Here's  his  health  !  Atoi/i/o-ios  ! — not  a  bad 
introduction  to  a  bumper  of  claret.     {Three  times  three. '\ 


52  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


PROUT. 

I  too  have  turned  my  thoughts  into  tliat  channel,  and  among  my  papers 
there  is  a  treatise  on  "  the  root."  I  have  prefixed  to  wj/ dissertation  this 
epigraph  from  Cicero's  speech  "pro  Archia  Poeta,"  where  the  Roman  orator 
talks  of  the  belles  Icttres ;  but  I  apply  the  words  much  more  literally— I 
hale  metaphor  in  practical  matters  such  as  these  :  "They  are  the  food  of  our 
youth,  the  sustenance  of  our  old  age;  they  are  delightful  at  home,  and  by  no 
means  in  one's  way  abroad  ;  they  cause  neither  nightmare  nor  indigestion,  but 
are  capital  things  on  a  journey,  or  to  fill  the  wallet  of  a  pilgrim."  "  Adoles- 
centiam  alunt,  senectutem  oblectant  ;  delectant  domi,  non  impediunt  foris ; 
pernoctant  nobiscum,  peregrinantur,  rusticantur."  So  much  for  potatoes. 
But  there  are  other  excellent  natural  productions  in  our  island,  which  are 
also  duly  celebrated  in  my  papers,  and  possibly  may  be  published  ;  but  not 
till  I  am  gathered  to  the  grave.  I  have  never  forgotten  the  interests  of 
posterity. — Pass  that  decanter. 

SCOTT. 

Talking  of  the  productions  of  the  soil,  I  cannot  reconcile  the  antiquity, 
the  i>ico7itcstable  antiquity,  of  the  lyric  ode  called  the  "Groves  of  Blarney," 
of  which  before  dinner  we  have  traced  the  remote  origin,  and  examined  so 
many  varied  editions  with  a  book  of  more  modern  date  called  "  Cassar's  Com- 
mentaries." The  beech-tree,  Caesar  says,  does  not  grow  in  these  islands,  or 
did  not  in  his  time  :  All  trees  grow  there,  he  asserts,  the  same  as  in  Gaul, 
except  the  lime-tree  and  the  beech—"  Materia  fere  eadem  ac  in  Gallia,  praeter 
fagiun  et  abietem."  {Cces.  de  Dcllo  Galileo,  lib.  v.)  Now  in  the  song,  which 
is  infinitely  older  than  Caesar,  we  have  mention  made,  "besides  the  leeches," 
of  certain  "  groves  of  beeches," — the  text  is  positive. 

KNAPP. 

That  observation  escaped  me  totally;  and  still  the  different  versions  all 
concur  in  the  same  assertion.     The  Latin  or  Vulgate  codex  says — 

"  Grande  decus  pagi 
Fluvii  stant  margine  f.\gi." 

The  Greek  or  Septuagint  version  is  equally  stubborn  in  making  out  the 
case — 

And  the  French  copy,  taken  from  Doomsday  Book,  is  conclusive,  and  a 
complete  poster — 

"  Sur  ces  bords  champetres 
On  a  plante  des  METRES."  ' 

I  am  afraid  Caesar's  reputation  for  accuracy  will  be  greatly  shaken  by  this 
discovery :  he  is  a  passable  authority  in  military  tactics,  but  not  in  natural 
history  :  give  me  Pliny  ! — This  trout  is  excellent ! 

OLDEX. 

I  think  the  two  great  authors  at  issue  on  this  beech-tree  business  can  be 
conciliated  thus  :  let  us  say,  that  by  the  Greek  <\)t\ytMv,  and  the  Latin  fa^i, 
nothing  more  is  meant  than  tlie  clan  tiie  0'Fag,\ns,  who  are  very  thickly 
planted  hereabouts.  They  are  still  a  hungry  race,  as  their  name  Fagan  indicates 
— cnro  Tov  (JtayEiif. 

PROUT. 

It  must  have  been  one  of  that  family  who,  in  the  reign  of  Aurelius,  dis 


Father  Protifs  Carousal.  53 

tinguished  himself  by  his  great  appetite  at    the   imperial  court  of  Rome. 
Thus  Berchoux  sings,  on  the  authority  of  Suetonius  : 

' '  Phagon  fut  en  ce  genre  un  homme  extraordinaire  ; 
11  avait  I'estomac  (grands  Dieux  1)  d'un  dromadaire  : 
II  faisait  disparaitre,  en  ses  rares  festins, 
Un^orc,  nn  satiglier,  un  jnouton,  et  cent  pains  I  I  I  " 

o'meara. 
That's  what  we  at  Paris  used  to  call  pain  d  dzscriiion.—Ma.Yg&Tet,  open 
some  oysters,  and  get  the  cayenne  pepper. 

BELLEW. 

I  protest  I  don't  like  to  see  the  O' Pagans  run  down— my  aunt  was  an 
O'Fagan;  and  as  to  deriving  the  name  from  the  Greek  a-rro  tov  cpaytiv,  I 
think  it  a  most  gratuitous  assumption. 

KNAPP. 

I  agree  with  my  worthy  friend  Bellew  as  to  the  impropriety  of  harping 
upon  names.  One  would  think  the  mayor  of  Cork  ought  to  obtain  some 
respect,  and  be  spared  the  infliction  of  the  waggery  of  his  fellow-townsmen. 
But  no;  because  I  clear  the  city  of  mad  dogs,  and  keep  hydrophobia  far 
from  our  walls,  I  am  called  the  "  dog- (I  had  almost  said  kid-)  Knappcr !" 
Now,  mv  family  is  of  German  extraction,  and  my  great-grandfather  served 
under  the  gallant  Dutchman  in  his  wars  with  the  "Grande  Monarque," 
before  he  came  over  with  William  to  deliver  this  country  from  slavery  and 
wooden  shoes.  It  was  my  great-grandfather  who  invented  that  part  of  a 
soldier's  accoutrement  called,  after  him,  a  "  Knapp's  sack." 

CORBET. 

I  hope.  Sir  Walter,  you  will  not  leave  Cork  without  dining  at  the  mansion- 
house  with  our  worthy  mayor.  Falstaff  himself  could  not  find  fault  with  the 
excellent  flavour  of  Knapp's  sack. 

SCOTT. 

I  fear  I  shall  not  be  able  to  postpone  my  departure  ;  but  as  we  are  on  this 
subject  of  names,  I  have  to  observe,  that  it  is  an  old  habit  of  the  vulgar  to 
take  hberty  with  the  syllables  of  a  great  man's  patronymic.  Melancthon*  was 
forced  to  clothe  his  name  in  Greek  to  escape  their  allusions  ;  Jules  de  I'Echelle 
changed  his  into  Scahger  ;  Pat  Lardner  has  become  Dionysius  ;  and  the  great 
author  of  those  immortal  letters,  which  he  has  taken  care  to  tell  us  will  be 
read  when  the  commentaries  of  Cornelius  a  Lapide  are  forgotten,  gave  no 
name  at  all  to  the  world — 

"  Stat  nominis  umbra  ! " 

PROUT. 
Poor  Erasmus  !  how  he  used  to  be  badgered  about  his  cognomen— 
"  Quseritur  unde  tibi  sit  nomen,  Erasmus?— Eras  Mus  !' 
for  even  so  that  arch  wag,  the  Chancellor  Sir  Thomas  More,  addressed  him. 
But  his  reply  is  on  record,  and  his  pentameter  beats  the  Chancellor's  hexa- 
meter— 

*'  Si  sum  Mus  ego,  te  judice  Summus  ero  ! " 

*  The  real  name  of  Melancthon  was  Philipp  Schwartzerd  (Sdjreat^etb),  which  means 
black  earth,  and  is  most  happily  rendered  into  Greek  by  the  term  Melancthon,  MeAatva- 
X^wv.  Thus  sought  he  to  escape  the  ^'ulgar  conundrums  which  his  name  m  the  ver- 
nacular German  could  not  fail  to  elicit.     A  Lapide's  name  was  stein. 


54  The  Works  of  FatJicr  Proitt. 


SCOTT. 

Ay,  and  you  will  recollect  how  he  splendidly  retaliated  on  the  punster  by 
dedicating  to  Sir  Thomas  his  Mwotas  EyKw/xiov.  Erasmus  was  a  capital 
fellow, 

"The  glory  of  the  priesthood,  and  the  shame  ! " 

o"meara. 
Pray,  Sir  Walter,  are  you  any  relation  of  our  great  irrefragable  doctor, 
Duns  Scotus  ?    He  was  an  ornament  of  the  Franciscan  order. 

SCOTT. 

Xo,  I  have  not  that  honour  ;  but  I  have  read  what  Erasmus  says  of 
certain  members  of  your  fraternity,  in  a  dialogue  between  himself  and  the 

Echo  : 

"(Erasmus  loquitur.') — Quid  est  sacerdotium  ? 

(Echo  respoudii.) — Otium  !" 
PROUT. 

That  reminds  me  of  Lardner's  idea  of  "otium  cum  dignitate,"  which  he 
proposes  to  read  ihus— otium  cuvi  diggiii  'iaties  /—The  sugar  and  the  materials 
here  for  Mr.  Bellew. 

CORBET. 

There  was  a  witty  thing,  and  a  severe  thing,  said  of  the  Barberini  family 
at  Rome,  when  they  took  the  stones  of  the  Amphitheatrum  Flavium  to  build 
them  their  palazzo  :  "Quod  non  fecerant  Barbari,  hoc  fecerunt  Bnrberini." 
But  I  think  Jack  Bellew,  in  his  Chro7iiclc,  made  as  pointed  a  remark  on 
Sir  Thomas  Deane,  knight  and  builder,  who  bought  the  old  furniture  and 
gutted  trte  old  castle  of  Blarney  :  "  The  Danes,"  quoth  Jack,  "  have  always 
been  pillaging  old  Ireland  !  " 

SCOTT. 

Wlioever  connived  at  or  abetted  the  destruction  of  that  old  mansion,  or 
,  took  any  part  in  the  transaction,  had  the  soul  of  a  Goth  ;  and  the 
I     Chronicle  could  not  say  less. 

I  CORBET. 

Bellew  has  vented  his  indignation  in  a  song,  which,  if  called  on  by  so  dis- 
I     tinguished  an  antiquar)',  he  will,  no  doubt,  sing.     And  first  let  me  propose 
the   "Liberty  of   the   Press"  and  the   Cork   Chro7nclc,—mn^   times   nine, 
standing.     Hurrah ! 

JACK   BELLEW'S    SONG. 

Air — "  O  iveepfor  tlie  hour  I  " 

Oh  !  the  muse  shed  a  tear 

When  the  cruel  auctioneer. 
With  a  hammer  in  his  hand,  to  sweet  Blarney  came  ! 

Lady  Jeffery's  ghost 

Left  the  Stygian  coast, 
And  shriek'd  the  livelong  night  for  her  grandson's  shame. 

The  Vandal's  hammer  fell. 

And  we  know  full  well 
Who  bought  the  castle  furniture  and  fi.xtures,  O  ! 

And  took  off  in  a  cart 

('Twas  enough  to  break  one's  heart !) 
All  the  statues  made  of  lead,  and  the  pictures,  O  ! 


Father  Proufs  Carousal.  55 


You're  the  man  I  mean,  hight 

Sir  Thomas  Deane,  knight, 
V\Tiom  the  people  have  no  reason  to  thank  at  all ; 

But  for  you  those  things  so  old 

Sure  would  never  have  been  sold. 
Nor  the  fox  be  looking  out  from  the  banquet-hall. 

Oh,  ye  puU'd  at  such  a  rate 

At  every  wainscoting  and  grate, 
Determined  the  old  house  to  sack  and  garble,  O  ! 

That  you  didn't  leave  a  splinter. 

To  keep  out  the  could  winter. 
Except  a  limestone  chimney-piece  of  marble,  O  ! 

And  there  the  place  was  left 

Where  bold  King  Charles  the  Twelfth 
Hung,  before  his  portrait  went  upon  a  journey,  O  ! 

Och  I  the  family's  itch 

For  going  to  law  was  sitch. 
That  they  bound  him  long  before  to  an  attorney,  O  ! 

But  still  the  magic  stone 

(Blessings  on  it  1)  is  not  flown. 
To  which  a  debt  of  gratitude  Pat  Lardner  owes  : 

Kiss  that  block,  if  you're  a  dunce, 

And  you'll  emulate  at  once 
The  genius  who  to  fame  by  dint  of  blarney  rose. 

SCOTT. 

I  thank  you,  Mr.  Bellew,  for  your  excellent  ode  on  that  most  lamentable 
subject :  it  must  have  been  an  evil  day  for  Blarney. 

BELLEW. 

A  day  to  be  blotted  out  of  the  annals  of  Innisfail— a  day  of  calamity  and 
downfall.  The  nightingale  never  sang  so  plaintively  in  "the  groves,"  the 
dove  or  the  "  gentle  plover  "  were  not  heard  "in  the  afternoon,"  the  fishes  wept 
in  the  deepest  recesses  of  the  lake,  and  strange  sounds  were  said  to  issue 
from  "  the  cave  where  no  daylight  enters." — Let  me  have  a  squeeze  of 
lemon. 

SCOTT. 

But  what  became  of  the  "  statues  gracing  this  noble  mansion?  " 

BELLEW. 

Sir  Thomas  Deane  bought  "Nebuchadnezzar,"  and  the  town-clerk,  one 
Besnard,  bought  "Julius  C^sar."  Sir  Thomas  of  late  years  had  taken  to 
devotion,  and  consequently  coveted  the  leaden  effigy  of  that  Assyrian  king,  of 
whom  Daniel  tells  us  such  strange  things  ;  but  it  turned  out  that  the  graven 
image  was  a  likeness  of  Hercules,  after  all !  so  that,  having  put  up  the  statue  in 
his  lawn  at  Blackrock,  the  wags  have  since  called  his  villa  "  Herculaneum." 
Like  that  personage  of  whom  Tommy  Moore  sings,  in  his  pretty  poem  about 
a  sculptors  shop,  who  made  a  similar  qtu  pro  quo.  What's  the  verse, 
Corbet  ? 

CORBET. 
"  He  came  to  buy  yojia/i,  and  took  away  Jove  !  " 

OMEARA. 

There  is  nothing  very  wonderful  in  that.  In  St.  Peter's  at  Rome  we  have  an 
old  statue  of  Jupiter  (a  capital  antique  bronze  it  is),  which,  with  the  addition  of 
"keys"  and  some  other  modem  improvements,  makes  an  e.xcellent  figure  of 
the  prince  of  the  apostles. 


Swift  says  that  Jupiter  was  originally  a  mere  corruption  of  ''Jew  Peter.'' 
You  have  given  an  edition  of  the  Dean,  Sir  Walter? 

SCOTT. 

Yes  ;  but  to  return  to  your  Blarney  statue  :  I  wonder  the  peasantry  did  not 
rescue,'  vi  et  artnis,  the  ornaments  of  their  immortal  groves,  from  the  grasp  of 
the  barbarians.  I  happened  to  be  in  Paris  when  the  allies  took  away  the 
sculptured  treasures  of  the  Louvre,  and  the  Venetian  horses  of  the  Carrousel; 
and  I  well  remember  the  indignation  of  the  sons  of  France.  Pray  what  was 
the  connection  between  Blarney  Castle  and  Charles  XII.  of  Sweden? 


BELLEW. 

One  of  the  Jefferv  family  sen-ed  with  distinction  under  the  gallant  S^-ede, 
and  had  received  the  royal  portrait  on  his  return  to  his  native  country,  after  a 
successful  campaign  against  the  Czar  Peter.  The  picture  was  swindled  out  of 
Blarney  by  an  attorney,  to  satisfy  the  costs  of  a  lawsuit. 

OLDEN. 

The  Czar  Peter  was  a  consummate  pohtician  ;  but  when  he  chopped  off  the 
beards  of  the  Russians,  and  forced  his  subjects  by  penal  laws  to  shave  their 
chins,  he  acted  very  unwisely ;  he  should  have  procured  a  supply  of  eukeiro- 
geneion,  and  effected  his  object  by  smooth  means. 

CORBET, 

Come,  Olden,  let  us  have  one  of  your  songs  about  that  wonderful  dis- 
covery. 

OLDEN. 

I'll  willingly  give  you  an  ode  in  praise  of  the  incomparable  lather  ;  but  I 
think  it  fair  to  state  that  my  song,  like  my  cukeirogencion,  is  a  modern  imita- 
tion of  a  Greek  original :  you  shall  hear  it  in  both  languages. 


OLDEN'S  SOXG. 

Come,  list  to  my  stave. 
Ye  who  roam  o'er  the  land  or  the  wave. 
Or  in  grots  subterranean, 
Or  up  the  blue  Mediterranean, 
Near  Etna's  big  crater. 
Or  across  the  equator. 
Where,  within  St.   Helena,   there    lieth  an  emperor's 

grave  ; 
If,  when  you  have  got  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
You  begin  to  experience  a  sad  want  of  soap, 
liless  your  lot 
On  the  spot, 
If  you  chance  to  lay  eye  on 
A  flask  of  Eukeirogeneion  : 
For  then  you  may  safely  rely  on 
A  smooth  and  most  comfortmg  shave  ! 

In  this  liquid  there  lies  no  deception  ; 
For  even  old  Neptime. 
Whose  bushy  chin  frightens 
The  green  squad  of  Tritons — 
And  who  turns  up  the  deep 
With  the  huge  flowing  sweep 


"EvKi^ipoyiVfiov. 

Tt]9  e/i75?  aKpoacrOe 
fiSrjs,  ocTOt  nKavaaOe 
El'  777,  t'  ei'  Kv^J.aTea^cn 
KaTayatot?,  r'  ev  <nrqe<T(n 
Kvai'eo)  re  Meffoyaiw, 
Ilapa  Kafxiru)  Atri'aicu 
Icrrjjuepa'ou  repav  re 
KvkKov,  en'  EAevai'  re 
'OSov  TrAeoi'Tc?  naKpai', 
"  AyadeXmSoi  "  irpo^  axpai; 
'S.naviq  et  ri^  yevoLTO 
Saroji'o?,  K-fjp  x^-ipoiTO 
El  y'  Ofxixa  to  /SAen-et  <tov 
To  EYKEIPOrENEION, 
Koupa  yap  yj  fxaMara 
IlapetrTi  aoi  TpiA\i(TTa. 

El'  KkvcTfiar  ovtoj  rySe 
Ectt'  aTTarri,  yap  b  Sr) 
no(Tfi5u»i',  6  7€pai05 
Meya?  Ei'i'0<Ti.yaio<;, 
Sacroi'  fyuiv  TTuyoJva, 
'CI  (|>oi3e€i  TpiTwva, 


FatJier  Front's  Carousal. 


S7 


Of  his  lengthy  and  ponderous  beard, — 
Should  he  rub  but  his  throttle 
With  the  foam  of  this  bottle, 
He'd  find, 
To  his  mind, 
In  a  twinkling  the  mop  would  have  all  disappear 'd. 


King  Nebuchadnezzar, 
VTho  was  tum'd  for  his  sins  to  a  grazier, 
(For  they  stopp'd  his  allowance  of  praties. 
And  made  him  eat  grass  on  the  banks  of  Euphrates), 

^^"hose  statue  Sir  Thomas 

Took  from  us  ; 
Along  with  the  image  of  Caesar  ; 
(But   Frank   Cresswell  will   tell    the   whole    storj'   to 

Fraser :) 
Though  they  left  him  a  capital  razor,_ 
Still  went  for  seven  years  with  his  hair  like  a  Hon, 
For  want  of  Eukeirogeneion. 


Kat  oiSaret  Qakaaaav, 
0(To.K^<;  eSeTreraacrev 

IlAoKa/xous  ^orpvoei'Ta?, 
Tlpoauj—ov  ei  ye  X.ovel, 
KvTOv?  a6p(i)  TouTOut 
El'  a/capei  ro  ^eiov 
Aeiatvexai  -yei'eiov. 

KejSv^oifii'aicrap    avKrit 
Ov  BAapviKrjs  ou^'  VA.77S 
O  ©ojjLias  TO  eL8ij}\ov 
'O  jSap^apo?  jLLTj  ioA.wr, 
Me-yaA.Tji'  aciatpwv  Aetav" 
Kai  Srnouv  <^VTeiav, 
2ot  t'  avTO  peSe  Kai<rap, 
'n?  yvoa-erai  6  OPAISAP) 
Ta  ^vp'  apiCTT   ava^'  ev 
OiKiiJ  e\cjv  Tapoi^ei', 
'O  nwywv  KaL  ^airri(TLV 
Ecr^Tjfiei'o?,  TrAanjj  tjv 
©rjp  ojo"'.  ovTco  yap  8iov 
Eix'  EYKEIPOrENEIOX. 


PROUT. 

I  don't  think  it  fair  that  Frank  Cress'.vell  should  say  nothing  all  the  evening. 
Up,  up,  my  boy  !  give  us  a  speech  or  a  stave  of  some  kind  or  other.  Have 
you  never  been  at  school?  Come,  let  us  have  "  Xorval  on  the  Grampian 
hills, ' '  or  something  or  other. 

Thus  apostrophized,  O  Queen!  I  put  my  wits  together;  and,  anxious  to 
contribute  my  quota  to  the  common  fund  of  classic  enjoyment,  I  selected 
the  immortal  ode  of  Campbell,  and  gave  a  Latin  translation  in  rhyme  as  well 
as  I  could. 


THE  BATTLE   OF   HOHEN- 
LIXDEX. 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low. 
Ail  bloodless  lay  th'  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser  rolling  rapidly'. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight. 
When  the  drums  beat  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  the  scenerj-. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  array 'd, 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh'd 
To  join  the  dreadful  rivahy. 

Then  shook  the  hills,  by  thimder  riven  ; 
Then  rush'd  the  steed,  to  battle  driven  : 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven 
Far  flash'd  the  red  artillery- '. 

The  combat  thickens  !  on,  ye  brave  I 
^\  ho  rush  to  glory  or  the  grave. 
Wave,  Mimich  I  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry  ! 

Few,  few  shall  part  where  many  meet  ! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet. 
And  everj'  sod  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre  ! 


Prcclium  apud  Hohenlinden. 

Sol  ruit  coslo  minuitque  lumen. 
Nix  super  terris  jacet  usque  munda, 
Et  tenebrosa  fluit  Iser  unda 
Flebile  flumen  ! 

Namque  noctumus  simul  arsit  ignis. 
Tympanum  rauco  sonuit  boatu, 
Dum  mi  cant  flammis,  agitante  flatu, 
Rura  malignis. 

Jam  dedit  vocem  tuba  !  fax  rubentes 
Ordinat  turmis  equites,  et  ultro 
Fert  equos  ardor,  rutilante  cultro. 
Ire  fiu-entes. 

Turn  sono  colles  tremuere  belli. 
Turn  ruit  campo  sonipes,  et  aether 
Mugit,  et  rubra  tonitru  videtur 
Arce  revelli  ! 

Ingruit  strages  !  citb,  ferte  gressum  ! 
Quos  triumphantem  redimere  pulchro 
Tempori  laurum  juvat  !  aut  sepulchro 
Stare  cupressum  ! 

Hie  ubi  campum  premuere  multi, 
Tecta  qu4m  rari  patriae  \-idebunt 
Heu  sepulchrali  nive  quot  manebunt, 
Pol  I  nee  inulti ! 


58  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Such,  O  Queen  !  Nvas  my  feeble  effort  :  and  to  your  fostering  kindness  I 
commit  the  luckless  abortion,  hoping  to  be  forgiven  by  Tom  Campbell  for 
having  upset  into  very  inadequate  Latin  his  spirit-stirring  poetry.  I  made 
amends,  however,  to  the  justly-enraged  Muse,  by  eliciting  the  following 
dithyrambic  from  Dan  Corbet,  whom  I  challenged  in  my  turn  : 

DAN    CORBET'S    SONG. 

The  Ivory  Tooth. 

Believe  me,  dear,Prout, 
Should  a  tooth  e'er  grow  loose  in  your  head, 

Or  fall  out, 
And  perchance  you'd  wish  one  in  its  stead, 
^^oon  j'ou'd  see  what  my  Art  could  contrive  for  ye  ; 

When  I'd  forthwith  produce. 

For  3'our  reverence's  use, 
,        A  most  beautiful  tooth  carved  t'rom  ivory  ! 

Which,  when  dinner-t;me  comes. 

Would  so  well  fit  your  gums, 

That  to  make  one  superior 

'Twould  puzzle  a  fair^',  or 

Any  'cute  Leprechawn 

That  trips  o'er  the  lawn, 

Or  the  spirit  that  dwells 

In  the  lonely  harebells, 
Or  a  witch  from  the  big  lake  Ontario  ! 

'Twould  fit  in  so  tight. 

So  brilliant  and  bright. 

And  te  made  of  such  capital  stuff, 

1  hat  no  food 

Must  needs  be  eschew'd 
On  account  of  its  being  too  tough  ; 

Twould  enable  a  sibyl 

The  hardest  sea-biscuit  to  nibble  ; 
Nay,  with  such  a  sharp  tusk,  and  such  pollsh'd  enamel,. 

Dear  Prout,  you  could  eat  up  a  camel  1 

As  I  know  you  will  judge 
With  eye  microscopic 
What  I  say  on  this  delicate  topic, 
And  I  wish  to  beware  of  all  fudge, 
I  tell  but  the  bare  naked  truth, 
And  I  hope  I  don't  state  what's  irrelevant. 
When  I  say  that  this  tooth. 
Brought  from  Africa,  when 
In  the  depths  of  a  palm-shaded  glerr 
It  was  captured  by  men. 
Then  adom'd  in  the  full  bloom  of  youth. 
The  jaws  of  a  blood-royal  elephant. 

W'q  are  told. 
That  a  surgeon  of  old — 
Ch,'tis  he  was  well  skill'd  in  the  art  of  nosology-  '. 
For  such  was  his  knowledge,  he 
Could  make  you  a  nose  bran  new  ! 
I  scarce  can  believe  it,  can  you? 
And  still  did  a  public  most  keen  and  d'scernin^ 
Acknowledge  his  learning  ; 
Yea,  such  skill  was  his. 
That  on  any  infortunate  phiz, 
By  some  luckless  chance. 
In  the  wars  of  France, 
Deprived  of  its  fleshy  ridge. 
He'd  raise  up  a  nasal  bridge. 


% 


FatJier  Proiifs  Carousal.  59 


Now  my  genius  is  not  so  precocious 
As  that  of  JJr.  Tagliacotius, 
For  I  only  profess  to  be  versed  in  the  art  of  dontolog^- ; 
To  make  you  a  nose 
"  C'est  toute  autre  chose  ;  " 
For  at  best,  my  dear  Prout, 
Instead  of  a  human  snout, 

You'd  get  but  a  sorrj'  apology. 
But  let  me  alone 
For  stopping  a  gap,  or  correcting  a  flaw 
In  a  patient's  jaw  ; 
Or  making  a  tooth  that,  like  bone  of  your  bone. 
Will  outlive  your  own, 
And  shine  on  in  the  grave  \\hen  yoiur  spirit  is  flo\Mi. 

I  know  there's  a  blockhead 
That  will  put  you  a  tooth  up  with  wires. 
And  then,  when  the  clumsy  thing  tires, 

This  most  impudent  fellow 

Will  quietly  tell  you 

To  take  it  out  of  its  socket, 
And  put  it  back  into  your  waistcoat  pocket ! 

But  'tis  not  so  with  mine, 

O  most  learned  divine  ! 
For  without  any  spurious  auxiliary-, 
So  firmly  infix 'd  in  your  dexter  maxillarj'. 

To  your  last  dj'ing  moment  'twill  shine. 
Unless  'tis  knock'd  out, 
In  some  desperate  rout. 
By  a  sudden  discharge  of  artillery. 

Thus  the  firmer  'twill  grow  as  the  wearer  grows  older. 
And  then,  when  in  death  you  shall  m.oulder, 
Like  that  Greek  who  had  gotten  an  ivorj-  shoulder. 
The  delight  and  amazement  of  ev'rj'  beholder, 
You'll  be  sung  by  the  poets  in  your  turn,  O  ! 
'''Dente  Proitt  huineroqiie  Pelops  insigiiis  ebjer7io  !  " 

ViRG.  Georg.  II. 
CORBET. 

Come,  old  Prout,  let's  have  a  stave  !    And  fir.st,  here's  to  your  health,  my 
old  cock  ! 

"  Perpetual  bloom 
To  the  Church  of  Rome  1  " 

[Dnutk  standing.^ 

The  excellent  old  man  acknowledged  the  toast  with  becoming  dignity,  and 
tunefully  warbled  the  Latin  original  of  one  of-  "  the  Melodies." 

FATHER  PROUT'S    SONG.  Front  cantat. 

Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old,  O  :  utinam  sanos  mea  lema  recogitet  annos 

Ere  her  faithless  sons  betray'd  her.  Antea  quam  nati  vincla  dedere  pati,  ^ 

WhenMalachi  wore  the  collar  of  gold.  Cum  Malachus  tor(;'Le  ut  patriae  defen- 

^V^lich  he  won  from  the  proud  invader  ;  sor  honorque 

When  Xial,  with  standard  of  green  im-  Ibat  :  erat  vero  pignus  ab  hoste  fero. 

fvu-l'd.  Tempore  vexillo  viridante  equitabat  in  illo 

Led  the  red-branch  knights  to  danger,  Nialus  ante  truces  fer^idus  ire  duces.  _ 

Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  western  world  Hi  nee  erant  anni  radiis  in  fronte  tjTanni 

Was  set  in  the  brow  of  a  stranger.  Fulgeat  ut  claris,  insula  gemma  maris. 

On  Lough  Xeagh's  banks  as  the  fisherman  Quando  tacet  ventus,  Xeaghae  dum   mar- 
strays,  gine  lentus 

When  the  cool,  calm  eve's  declining,  Piscator  vadit.  vesperse  ut  um.bra  cadit. 

He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days  Contemplans  undas,  ibi  turres  stare  rotun- 

Beneath  the  waters  shinins:.  das 


6o 


The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


So  shall  memory  oft,  in  dream  sublime. 
Catch  a  glimpse  of  the  days  that  are 
over. 
And,  sighing,  look  through  the  waves  of 
time. 
For  the  long-faded  glories  they  cover. 


Credidit,  inque  lac\is  oppida  cemit  aquis. 
Sic  memori  in  somnis  res  gesta  reponitur 
omnis 

Historicosque  dies  rettulit  alma  quies, 
Gloria  sublimis  se  effert  fe  fluctibus  imis, 

Atque  apparet  ibi  patria  cara  tibi. 


PKOUT, 
I  now  call  on  my  worthy  friend  Dowden,  whom  I  am  sorry  to  see  indulging 
in  nothing  but  soda  all  the  evening:  come,  President  of  the  "Temperance," 
and  ornament  of  "  the  Kirk,"  a  song  1 


DICK    DOWDEN'S    SONG. 


Air — "/  sing  the  Maid  of  Lodi." 


I  sing  the  fount  of  soda. 

That  sweetly  springs  for  me, 
And  I  hope  to  make  this  ode  a 

Delightful  melody  ; 
For  if  "  Caslalian"  water 

Refresh'd  the  tuneful  nine, 
Health  to  the  ^luse  !  I've  brought  her 

A  bubbling  draught  of  mine. 

Apto"Toi/  ^ei'  TO  vSojp — 

So  Pindar  sang  of  old. 
Though  modern  bards— /n?A/M^r.' — 

Deem  water  dull  and  cold  ; 
But  if  at  my  suggestion 

They'd  try  the  crj-stal  spring. 
They'd  find  that,  for  digestion. 

Pure  element's  the  thing. 

With  soda's  cheerful  essence 

They'd  fill  the  brimming  glass, 
And  feel  the  mild  'fervescence 

Of  hydrogen  and  gas  ; 
Nor  quaff  Geneva's  liquor — 

Source  of  a  thousand  ills  ! 
Nor  swill  the  poisonous  ichor 

Cork  (to  her  shame  I)  distils. 

Gm  is  a  lurking  viper. 

That  stings  the  madden'd  soul, 
And  Reason  pays  the  piper. 

While  Folly  drains  the  bowl  ; 


And  rum,  made  of  molasses, 

Inclineth  man  to  sin  I 
And  {zir  potheen  surpasses 

The  alcohol  of  gin. 

But  purest  air  in  fixture 

Pervades  the  soda  draught. 
And  forms  the  sylph-like  mixture 

Brew'd  by  our  gentle  craft. 
Nor  is  the  beverage  injured 

When  fiavour'd  with  a  lime  ; 
Or  if,  when  slightly  ginger 'd, 

'Tis  swallow'd  off  in  time. 

Far  from  the  tents  of  topers 

Blest  be  my  lot  to  dwell. 
Secure  from  interlopers 

At  peaceful  ''Sunday  s  well." 
Free  o'er  my  lawn  to  wander. 

Amid  sweet  flowers  and  fruits  ; 
And  may  I  still  grow  fonder 

Of  chemical  pursuits. 

Through  life  with  step  unerring 

To  glide,  nor  wealth  to  hoard, 
Content  if  a  red  herring 

Adorn  my  frugal  board  ; 
While  Martha,  mild  and  placid. 

Assumes  the  household  cares, 
And  pyroligneoiis  acid 

I'he  juicy  ham  prepares. 


SCOTT. 
That  is  a  capital  defence  of  the  Temperance  Society,  and  of  sodaic  com- 
pounds, Mr.  Dowden,  and  clearly  refutes  the  rash  assertion  of  Horace — 

"  Nee  durare  diu  nee  vivere  carmina  possunt 
Quai  scribuntur  aquae  potoribus." 

PROUT. 
Dick,  you  have  a  decided  claim  for  a  song  on  any  of  our  guests  whose 
melodious  pipe  we  have  not  as  yet  heard. 

DOWDEN. 

I  call  on  O'Mcara,  whom   I  have  detected  watching,  with  a  covetous  eye, 
something  in  the  distant  landscape.     A  song,  friar  ! 


Father  Front  s 

Carousal.                       6 1 

o'meara. 

I  am  free  to  confess  that  yonder   turke 

y,   of  which  I  can  get  a  glimpse 

through   the   kitchen-door,    has   a   most  tempting   aspect.      Would   it   ^vere 

spitted  !— but,  alas  !  this  is  Friday.     However,  there  are  substitutes  even  for  a 

turkey,  as  I  shall  endeavour  to  demonstrate 

in  tlie  most  elegant  style  of  Frau- 

ciscan  Latinity;  adding  a  free  translation  for  the  use  of  the  ignorant. 

FRIAR   O'MEARA^S    SOXG. 

Cantilena  Omcarica. 

I. 

Nostra  non  est  regula 

Why  then,  sure  it  was  made  by  a  learned  owl, 

The  "rule  "  by  which  I  beg, 

Edenda  gallina. 

Forbidding  to  eat  of  the  tender  fowl 

Altera  sed  edula 

That  hangs  on  yonder  peg. 

Splendent  in  culina  ; 

But,  rot  it  !  no  matter  : 

Ova  manus  sedula 

For  here  on  a  platter, 

Affert  mihi  bina ! 

Sweet  Margaret  brings 

Est  Margarita, 

A  food  fit  for  kings  ; 

Quje  facit  ita. 

And  a  meat 

Puellarum  regina  I 

Clean  and  neat — 

That's  an  egg  ! 

Sweet  maid, 

~ 

She  brings  me  an  tgg  newly  laid  ! 

And  to  fast  I  need  ne'er  be  afraid, 

For  'tis  Peg 

That  can  find  me  an  egg. 

IT. 

Three  different  ways  there  are  of  eating  them  ; 

Triple.x  mos  est  edere  : 

First  boil'd,  then  fried  with  salt, — 

Primb,  genuina  ; 

But  there's  a  particular  way  of  treating  them, 

Dein,  certo  foedere 

Where  many  a  cooks  at  fault : 

Tosta  et  salina ; 

For  with  parsley  and  flour 

Tum,  nil  herbse  Isedere 

'Tis  in  Margaret's  power 

Possunt  aut  farina  ; 

To  make  up  a  dish, 

Est  Margarita, 

Neither  meat,  fowl,  nor  fish  ; 

Quae  facit  ita, 

But  in  Paris  they  call 't 

Puellarum  regina ! 

A  neat 

Omelette. 

S'.veet  girl  ! 

In  truth,  as  in  Latin,  her  name  is  a  pearl. 

When  she  gets 

Me  a  platter  of  nice  omelettes. 

III. 

{Lento  e  maetoso.) 

Och  1  'tis  all  in  my  eye,  and  a  joke, 

Tempus  stulta  plebs  abhorret 

To  call  fasting  a  sorrowful  yoke  ; 

Quadragesimale  ; 

Sure,  of  Dublin  Bay  herrings  a  keg. 

Halec  sed  si  in  mensa  foret. 

And  an  ^gg. 

Res  iret  non  tam  male  ! 

Is  enough  for  all  sensible  folk  ! 

Ova  dum  base  nympha  torret 

Success  to  the  fragrant  turf-smoke. 

In  olla  cum  sale. 

That  curls  round  the  pan  on  the  fire  ; 

Est  Margarita, 

While  the  sweet  yellow  yolk 

Quae  facit  ita. 

From  the  egg-shells  it  broke 

Puellarum  regina  i 

In  that  pan. 

Who  can. 

If  he  have  but  the  heart  of  a  man. 

• 

Not  feel  the  scft  flame  of  desire. 

When  it  burns  to  a  clinker  the  heart  of  a  friar  ? 

62  The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 

PROUT. 

I  coincide  with  all  that  has  been  said  in  praise  of  eggs  ;  I  have  written  a 
voluminous  essay  on  the  subject;  and  as  to  frying  them  in  a  pan,  it  is 
decidedly  the  best  method.  That  ingenious  man,  Crofton  Croker,  was  the 
first  among  all  the  writers  on  "useful  knowledge"  who  adorn  this  utili- 
tarian epoch  to  discover  the  striking  resemblance  that  exists  between  tliose 
two  delightful  objects  in  national  history,  a  daisy  and  a  fried  egg.  Eggs 
broken  into  a  pan  seem  encircled  with  a  whitish  border,  having  .a  yellow 
nucleus  in  the  centre ;  and  the  similar  appearance  of  the  field-daisy  ought 
to  have  long  since  drawn  the  notice  of  Wordsworth.  Meantime  in  the  matter 
of  frying  eggs,  care  should  be  taken  not  to  overdo  them,  as  an  old  philosopher 
lias  said — /asAtxij  to  -wav.  But  let  none  imagine  that  in  all  I  have  said  I 
intend  to  hint,  in  the  remotest  manner,  any  approval  of  that  barbarous  and 
unnatural  combination — that  horrid  amalgam,  yclept  a  pancake,  than  which 
I     nothing  can  be  more  detestable. 

'  SCOTT. 

j  Have  you  any  objection,  learned  host,  to  our  hearing  a  little  instrumental 
j  music  ?  Suppose  we  got  a  tune  on  the  bagpipe  ?  I  understand  your  mian, 
i     Terry  Callaghan,  can  squeeze  the  bags  to  some  purpose. 

PROUT. 

Terry  !  come  in,  and  bring  your  pipes  ! 

Terry,  nothing  loth,  came,  though  with  some  difficulty,  and  rather  unsteadily, 
from  the  kitchen  ;  and  having  established  himself  on  a  three-legged  stool  (the 
usual  seat  of  Pylhonic  inspiration),  gave,  after  a  short  prelude,  the  following 
h.armonious  strain,  with  vocal  accompaniment  to  suit  the  tuneful  drone  of 
the  bags:  in  which  arrangement  he  strictly  adhered  to  the  Homeric  prac- 
tice; for  we  find  that  the  most  approved  and  highly  gifted  minstrels  of  the 
"  Odyssey  "  (especially  that  model  among  the  bards  of  antiquity,  Demodocus), 
owing  to  their  contempt  for  wind-instruments,  were  enabled  to  play  and  sing 
at  the  same  time  ;  but  neither  the  lyre,  the  plectrum,  the  cpoo/uLiy^,  the  chelys, 
the  testudo,  or  the  barbiton,  afford  such  facilities  for  the  concomitance  of 
voice  and  music  as  that  wondrous  engine  of  harmony  the  Celtic  bagpipe, 
called  "  cof'ne  muse  "  by  the  French,  as  \i  par  excellence  "  cornu  inustz."  Terry, 
having  exalted  his  horn,  sang  thus  : 

TERRY   CALLAGHAN'S    SONG  ; 

Being  a  full  and  true  Account  of  the  Storming  of  Blarney  Castle,  by  the  united 

forces  of  Cromwell,  Ireton,  and  Fairfax, 

in  1628. 

Air — "/';«  nkin  to  the  Callaghans." 

O  Blarney  Castle,  my  darlint  ! 

Sure  you're  nothing  at  all  but  a  stone 
Wrapt  in  ivy — a  nest  for  all  varmint, 

Since  the  ould  Lord  Clancarty  is  gone. 
Och  !  'tis  you  that  was  once  strong  and  aincient, 

.And  ye  kep  all  the  Sassenachs  down, 
While  fighting  them  battles  that  ain't  yet 

Forgotten  by  martial  renown. 

O  Blarney  Ca.stle,  &c. 

Bad  luck  to  that  robber,  ould  Crommill  I 

'I'hat  plundered  our  beautiful  fort  ; 
We'll  never  forgive  him,  though  some  will — 

Saxons  !  such  as  George  Knapp  and  his  sort. 


Father  Pronfs  Carousal.  '  63 


But  they  tell  us  the  day'll  come,  when  Dannel 
Will  pur;ie  the  whole  country,  and  drive 

All  the  Sassenachs  into  the  Channel, 
,  Nor  leave  a  Cromwellian  alive. 

•  O  Blarney  Castle,' S:c. 

Curse  the  day  clumsy  Noll's  ugly  corpus. 

Clad  in  copper,  was  seen  on  our  plain  ; 
When  he  rowled  over  here  like  a  porpoise, 

In  two  or  three  hookers  from  Spain  ! 
And  bekase  that  he  was  a  freemason 

He  mounted  a  battering-ram. 
And  into  her  mouth,  full  of  treason, 

Twenty  pound  of  gunpowder  he'd  cram. 
O  Blarney  Castle,  &c 

So  when  the  brave  boys  of  Clancarty 
Looked  over  their  battlement-wall, 
They  saw  wicked  Oliver's  party 

All  a  feeding  on  powder  and  ball  ; 
And  that  giniral  that  married  his  daughter, 
Wid  a  heap  of  grape-shot  in  his  jaw — 
,  'That's  bould  Ireton,  so  famous  for  slaughter— 

And  he  was  his  brother-in-law. 

O  Blarney  Castle,  &c. 

They  fired  off  their  bullets  like  thunder, 

That  whizzed  through  the  air  like  a  snake  ; 
And  they  made  the  ould  castle  (no  wonder  !) 

With  all  its  foundations  to  shake. 
While  the  Irish  had  nothing  to  shoot  off 

But  their  bows  and  their  arras,  the  sowls ! 
"Waypons  fit  for  the  wars  of  old  Plutarch, 

And  perhaps  mighty  good  for  wild  fowls. 
O  Blarney  Castle,  &c. 

Och  !  'twas  Crommill  then  gave  the  dark  token— 

For  in  the  black  art  he  was  deep  ; 
And  though  the  eyes  of  the  Irish  stood  open. 

They  found  themselves  all  fast  asleep  ! 
With  his  jack-boots  he  stepped  on  the  water. 

And  he  walked  clane  right  over  the  lake ; 
While  his  sodgers  they  all  followed  after, 

As  dry  as  a  duck  or  a  drake. 

O  Blarney  Castle,  &c. 

Then  the  gates  he  burnt  down  to  a  cinder. 

And  the  roof  he  demolished  likewise  ; 
O  I  the  rafters  they  flamed  out  like  tinder. 

And  the  buiidin'y/rtr^^/  up  to  the  skies. 
And  he  gave  the  estate  to  the  Jeffers, 

With  the  dairj',  the  cows,  and  the  hay  : 
And  they  lived  there  in  clover  like  heifers. 

As  their  ancestors  do  to  this  day. 

O  Blarney  Castle,  &c. 

Such  was  the  song  of  Terry,  in  ihe  chorus  of  which  he  was  aided  by  the 
sympathetic  baryton  of  Jack  Bellew's  voice,  never  silent  when  his  country's 
woes  are  the  theme  of  eloquence  or  minstrelsy.  An  incipient  somnolency 
began,  however,  to  manifest  itself  in  Corbet  and  Dick  Dowden;  and  J  con- 
fess I  myself  can  recollect  little  else  of  the  occurrences  of  the  evening. 
Wherefore  with  this  epilogue  we  conclude  our  account  of  the  repast  on 
Watergrasshill,  observing  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  highly  pleased  with  the 
sacerdotal  banquet,  and  expressed  himself  so  to  Knapp  ;  to  whom,  on  their 
return  in  a  post-chaise  to  Cork,  he  exclaimed, 

"  Prorsus  jucund^  coenam  produximus  illam." — HoR. 


64  The  Works  of  Father  Proitt. 


IV. 

A  TALE   OF  A   CHURX. 

[Frascr's  Magazine,  "July,  1834.) 


[The  Fraser  which  contained  this  grimly  grotesque  phantasy  by  Prout  was  the  one  in 
which,  as  the  fiftieth  Literary  Portrait  in  Reginas  Gallery,  the  Author  of  "  Rookwood," 
then  in  his  jennesse  doree,  was  depicted,  symmetrical  in  form,  perfectly  clad,  curly- 
headed,  delicately  chiselled  in  feature,  negligently  half-seated  upon  a  table,  surrounded 
by  festoons  of  manacles,  crape-masks,  and  pistols  at  full  cock,  befitting  the  celebrant  of 
prison-breakers  and  highwaymen.  Obeying  the  impulse  of  some  now  incomprehensible 
freak,  INIaginn,  in  the  letterpress  accompanying  Maclise's  sketch,  dubbed  the  romancist, 
not  according  to  his  baptismal  register,  William  Harrison,  but  Walker Hiidric X\xvi>\\ox\.\\. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  of  it  but  that  Thackeray  had  this  paper  of  Mahony's  uncon- 
sciously in  his  recollection  when  in  his  lecture  on  Swift,  seventeen  years  later  on,  he  spoke 
of  the  great  Dean  as  entering  the  nursery  with  the  look  and  tread  of  an  ogre.  Not 
inappropriately  as  the  tailpiece  to  the  reprint  of  this  double-headed  essay  in  1836,  the 
infant  Prout  was  revealed  by  the  pencil  of  Croquis  as  escapmg  in  a  churn  from  the 
terrible  risk  of  getting  only  too  literally  a  little  later  on  into  a  pickle,  through  the  carry- 
ing out  of  his  illustrious  putative  father's  suggestion  that  the  children  of  papists  should 
be  utilized  for  the  advantage  of  the  Royal  Xavy  by  being  turned  into  salt  provisions.] 


"O  thou,  whatever  title  please  thine  ear, 
Dean,  Drapier,  liickerstatT,  or  (hiUiver^ 
Whether  thou  choose  Cervantes'  serious  air. 
Or  laugh  and  shake  in  Rab'lais'  easj'-chair. 
Or  praise  the  court,  or  magnify  mankind. 
Or  thy  grieved  country's  copper  chains  unbind  !" 

Pope. 

We  are  fully  cognizant  of  and  prepared  for  tlie  overwhelming  burst  of  felicita- 
tion which  we  shall  elicit  from  a  sympathizing  public,  when  we  announce  the 
glad  tidings  of  the  safe  arrival  in  London  of  the  W'atergrasshill  "chest," 
fraught  witli  treasures  such  as  no  Spanish  galleon  ever  wafted  from  Manilla  or 
Peru  into  the  waters  of  the  Guadalquiver.  From  the  remote  Irish  highland 
where  Prout  wasted  so  much  Athenian  suavity  on  the  desert  air,  unnoticed  and 
unappreciated  by  tlie  rude  tenants  of  tlie  hamlet,  his  trunk  of  posthumous 
papers  has  been  brought  into  our  cabinet ;  and  there  it  stands  before  us, 
like  unto  the  Trojan  horse,  repk-to  with  the  armed  offspring  of  tiie  great 
man's  brain,  right  well  packed  witli  classic  sfufllnig — ay,  pregnant  with  life  and 
glory  \  Haply  has  Fate  decreed  tiiat  it  should  fall  into  proper  hands  and 
fitting  custody;  else  to  what  vile  uses  miglit  not  this  vile  box  of  learned 
lumber  liave  been  unwittingly  converted — we  shudder  in  spirit  at  the  probable 


Dean  Swiff s  Madness.  65 

destiny  that  would  have  awaited  it.  The  Caliph  Omar  warmed  the  bath  of 
Alexandria  with  Ptolemy's  library;  and  the  "  Prout  Papers"  might  ere  now 
be  lighting  the  pipes  of  "  the  boys  "  in  Blarney  Lane,  while  the  chest  itself 
might  afford  materials  for  a  three-legged  stool — 

"  Trtnuus  Jiailmts,  inutile  ligman  !" 

In  verity  it  ought  to  be  allowable  at  times  to  indulge  in  that  most  pleasing 
opiate,  self-applause ;  and  having  made  so  goodly  an  acquisition,  why  should 
not  we  chuckle  inwardly  while  congratulated  from  without,  ever  and  anon 
glancing  an  eye  of  satisfaction  at  the  chest : 

"  iSIihi  plaudo  ipse  domi,  simul  ac  contemplor  in  area  I " 

Never  did  that  learned  ex-Jesuit,  Angelo  Mai,  now  librarian  of  the  Vatican, 
rejoice  more  over  a  "  palimpsest  "  MS.  of  some  crazy  old  monlc,  in  which  his 
quick  eye  fondly  had  detected  the  long-lost  decade  of  Livy — never  did  friend 
Pettigrew  gloat  over  a  newly  uncofifined  mummy—  (warranted  of  the  era  of  Sesos- 
tris)— never  did  (that  living  mummy)  Maurice  de  Talleyrand  exult  over  a  fresh 
bundle  of  Palmerstonian  protocols,  with  more  internal  complacency,  — tlian 
did  we,  jubilating  over  this  sacerdotal  anthology,  this  miscellany  "  in  boards," 
at  last  safely  lodged  in  our  possession. 

Apropos. '  We  should  mention  that  we  had  previously  the  honour  of 
receiving  from  his  Excellency  Prince  Maurice  (aforesaid)  the  following  note,  to 
which  it  grieved  us  to  return  a  flat  negative  : — 

"Le  Prince  de  Talleyrand  prie  Mr.  Olivier  Yorke  d'agreer  ses  respec- 
tueux  hommages.  Avant  eu  I'avantage  de  connaitre  personellement  feu 
I'Abbe  de  Prout  lors  de  ses  etudes  a  la  Sorbonne  en  1778,  il  serait  charme, 
sitot  qu'arriveront  les  papiers  de  ce  respectable'  ecclesiastique,  d'assister  a 
I'ouverture  du  coffre.  Cette  faveur,  qu'il  se  flatte  d'obtenir  de  la  politesie 
reconnue  de  }vIonsieur  YoRKE,  il  s^aura  duement  apprecier. 

"Atitbassade  de  France,  Hanofre  Sg. 
" ce  2  Jtiin." 

We  suspected  at  once,  and  our  surmise  has  proved  correct,  that  many 
documents  would  be  found  referring  to  Marie  Antoinette's  betrayers,  and  the 
practices  of  those  three  prime  intriguers,  Mirabeau,  CagUostro,  and  Prince 
Maurice  ;  so  that  we  did  well  in  eschewing  the  honour  intended  us  in  over- 
hauUng  these  papers — Xon  "  Talley  "  auxilio  ! 

We  hale  a  flourish  of  trumpets  ;  and  though  we  could  justly  command  all  the 
clarions  of  renown  to  usher  in  these  Prout  writings,  let  their  own  intrinsic  worth 
be  the  sole  herald  of  their  fame.  We  are  not  like  the  rest  of  men,  obliged  to 
inflate  our  cheeks  with  incessant  effort  to  blow  cur  commodities  into  notoriety. 
No  !  we  are  not  disciples  in  the  school  of  Puffendorf  :  Prout's/j/z  will  be 
found  fresh  and  substantial -not  "  blown,"  as  happens  too  frequently  in  the 
literarv  market.  We  have  more  than  once  acknowledged  the  unsought  and 
unpurchased  plaudits  of  our  contemporaries ;  but  it  is  also  to  the  imperishable 
verdict  of  posteritv  that  we  ultimately  look  for  a  ratification  of  modern 
applause;  with  Cicero  we  exclaim— "  Mem oria  vestra,  Quirites,  nostrae  res 
vivent,  sermonibus  crescent,  litteramm  monumentis  veterascent  et  cor- 
roborabuntur  !  "  Yes  !  while  the  ephemeral  writers  of  the  day,  mere  bubbles 
on  the  surface  of  the  flood,  will  become  extinct  in  succession,— while  a  few', 
more  luckv  than  their  comrade  dunces,  may  continue  for  a  space  toswim  with 
the  aid  of  those  vile  bladders,  newspaper  puffs,  Father  Prout  will  be  seen 
floating  triumphantly  down  the  stream  of  time,  secure  and  buoyant  in  a  genuine 
"Cork  "  jacket.  p    * 


66  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 

W'e  owe  it  to  the  public  to  account  for  the  delay  exp)erienced  in  the  trans- 
mission of  the  "chest"  from  Watergrasshill  to  our  hands.  The  fact  is,  that 
at  a  meeting  of  the  parishioners  held  on  the  subject  {Mat  Horrogan,  of 
Blarney,  in  the  chair),  it  was  resolved,  "  That  Terry  Callaghan,  being  a  tall 
and  trustworthy  man,  able  to  do  credit  to  the  village  in  London,  and  carry 
eleven  stone  weight  (the  precise  tariff  of  the  trunk),  should  be  sent  at  the 
public  expense,  vrl  Bristol,  with  the  coffer  strapped  to  his  shoulders,  and 
plenty  of  the  wherewithal  to  procure  'refreshment'  on  the  western  road, 
until  he  should  deliver  the  same  at  Mr.  Phaser's,  Regent  Street,  with  the 
compliments  of  the  parish.  "  Terry,  wisely  considering,  like  the  Commissioners 
of  the  Deccan  prize-money,  that  the  occupation  was  too  good  a  thing  not  to 
make  it  last  as  long  as  possible,  kept  refreshing  himself,  at  the  cost  of  the 
parochial  committee,  on  the  great  western  road,  and  only  arrived  last  week  in 
Regent  Street.  Having  duly  stopped  to  admire  Lady  Aldborough's  "round 
tower,"  set  up  to  honour  the  Duke  of  York,  and  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  "  Squadrint,"  he  at  last  made  his  appearance  at  our  office  ;  and  when  he 
had  there  discharged  his  load,  went  off  to  take  pot-luck  witli  Feargus 
O'Connor. 

Here,  then,  we  are  enabled,  no  longer  deferring  the  promised  beon,  to 
lay  before  the  pubhc  the  first  of  the  "  Prout  Papers  ;  "  breaking  bulk,  to  use  a 
seaman's  phrase,  and  producing  at  hazard  a  specimen  of  what  is  contained  in 
the  coffer  brought  hither  on  the  shoulders  of  tall  and  trustworthy  Terry 
Callaghan. 

"  Pandere  res  a//d  Terra  et  Caligifu  mersas." 

OLIVER  YORKE. 
Regent  Street,  ist  July,  1834. 


Watergrasshill,  March  1830. 

Yet  a  few  years,  and  a  full  century  shall  have  elapsed  since  the  death  of  Dr. 
Jonathan  Swift,  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's.  Yes,  O  my  friends  !  if  such  I  may 
presume  to  designate  you  into  whose  hands,  when  I  am  gathered  to  the 
silent  tomb,  these  writings  shall  fall,  and  to  whose  kindly  perusal  I  commend 
them,  bequeathing,  at  the  same  time,  the  posthumous  blessing  of  a  feeble  and 
toil-worn  old  man — yes,  when  a  few  winters  more  shall  have  added  to  the 
accumulated  snow  of  age  that  weighs  on  the  hoary  head  of  the  pastor  of  this 
upland,  and  a  short  period  shall  have  rolled  on  in  the  dull  monotony  of  these 
latter  days,  the  centenary  cycle  will  be  fully  completed,  the  secular  anthem  of 
dirge-like  solemnity  may  be  sung,  since  the  grave  closed  for  ever  on  one  whom 
Britain  justly  reveres  as  the  most  upright,  intuitive,  and  gifted  of  her  sages ; 
and  whom  Ireland,  when  the  frenzied  hour  of  strife  shall  have  passed  away, 
and  the  turbulence  of  parties  shall  have  subsided  into  a  national  calm,  will 
hail  with  the  rapture  of  returning  reason,  as  the  first,  the  best,  the  mightiest 
of  her  sons.  'Ihe  long  arrears  of  gratitude  to  the  only  true  disinterested 
champion  of  her  people  will,  then  be  paid— the  long-deferred  apotheosis  of 
the  patriot-divine  will  then  take  place— the  shamefully-forgotten  debt  of 
glory  which  the  lustre  of  his  genius  shed  around  his  semi-barbarous  countr)'- 
men  will  be  deeply  and  feelingly  remembered  ;  the  old  landmark  of  genuine 
worth  will  be  discovered  in  the  ebbing  of  modern  agitation,  and  due  honour 
will  be  .rendered  by  a  more  enlightened  age  to  the  keen  and  scrutinizing 
philosopher,  the  scanner  of  whate'er  lies  hidden  in  the  folds  of  the  human 
heart,  the  prophetic  seer  of  coming  things,  the  unsparing  satirist  of  con- 
temporary delinquency,  the  stern  Rhadamanthus  of  the  political  and  of  the 


Dean  Swiff s  Madness.  '     6"/ 

literary  world,  the  star  of  a  benighted  land,  the  lance  and  the  buckler  of 
Israel — 

"  We  ne'er  shall  look  upon  his  like  again."  * 

And  still  why  must  I  recall  (what  I  would  fain  obliterate)  the  ever-painful 
fact, — graven,  alas  !  too  indelibly  on  the  stubborn  tablets  of  his  biographers, 
chronicled  in  the  annals  of  the  country,  and,  above  all.  firmly  and  fatally 
established  by  the  monumental  record  of  his  own  philanthropic  munificence, — - 
the  disastrous  fact,  that  ere  this  brilliant  light  of  our  island  was  quenched  in 
death,  towards  the  close  of  the  year  1745 — long  before  that  sad  consummation, 
the  flame  had  wavered  wild  and  flickered  fitfully  in  its  lamp  of  clay,  casting 
around  shadows  of  ghastly  form,  and  soon  assummg  a  strange  and  melancholy 
hue,  that  made  every  well-wisher  hail  as  a  blessing  the  event  of  its  final 
extinction  in  the  cold  and  dismal  vaults  of  St.  Patrick's.  In  what  mysterious 
struggle  his  gigantic  intellect  had  been  cloven  down,  none  could  tell.  But  the 
evil  genius  of  insanity  had  clearly  obtained  a  masterdom  over  faculties  the 
most  powerful,  and  endowments  the  highest,  that  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
man. 

We  are  told  of  occasional  hours  of  respite  from  the  fangs  of  his  tormenting 
oaifiwv, — we  learn  of  moments  when  the  "  mens  divinior  "  was  suffered  to  go 
loose  from  its  gaoler,  and  to  roam  back,  as  it  were,  on  "parole,"  into  the 
dominions  of  reason,  like  the  ghost  of  the  murdered  king,  allowed  to  revisit,  for 
a  brief  space,  the  glimpses  of  our  glorious  firmament, — but  such  gleams  of 
mental  enlightenment  were  but  few,  and  short  in  their  duration.  They  were 
like  the  flash  that  is  seen  to  illumine  the  wreck  when  all  hope  is  gone,  and, 
fiercely  bursting  athwart  in  the  darkness,  appears  but  to  seal  the  doom  of  the 
cargo  and  the  mariners — intervals  of  lugubrious  transport,  described  by  our 
native  bard  as 

"  That  ecstasy  which,  from  the  depths  of  sadness. 
Glares  like  the  maniac's  moon,  whose  light  is  madness." 

Alas  !  full  rapidly  would  that  once  clear  and  sagacious  spirit  falter  and  relapse 
into  the  torpor  of  idiocy.  His  large,  expressive  eyes,  rolling  wildly,  would  at 
times  exhibit,  as  it  were,  the  inward  working  of  his  reason,  essaying  in  vain  to 
cast  off  the  nightmare  that  sat  triumphant  there,  impeding  that  current  of 
thought,  once  so  brisk  and  brilliant.  Noble  and  classic  in  the  very  writhings 
of  delirium,  and  often  sublime,  he  would  appear  a  living  image  of  the  sculp- 
tured Laocoon,  battling  with  a  serpent  that  had  grasped,  not  the  body,  but  the 
mind,  in  its  entangling  folds.  Yet  must  we  repeat  the  sad  truth,  and  again 
record  in  sorrow,  that  the  last  two  or  three  years  of  Jonathan  Swift  presented 
nothing  but  the  shattered  remnants  of  what  had  been  a  powerfully  organized 
being,  to  whom  it  ought  to  have  been  allotted,  according  to  our  faint  notions, 
to  carry  unimpaired  and  undiminished  into  the  hands  of  ////«  who  gave  such 
varied  gifts,  and  formed  such  a  goodly  intellect,  the  stores  of  hoarded  wisdom 
and  the  overflowing  measure  of  talents  well  employed  :  but  such  was  not  the 

*  Note  in  Front's  handwriting:  "Doyle,  of  Carlov.-,  faintly  resembles  him.  Bold, 
honest,  disinterested,  an  able  writer,  a  scholar,  a  gentleman  ;  a  bishop,  too,  in  our 
church,  with  none  of  the  shallow  pedantry,  silly  hauteur,  arrant  selfishness,  and  anile 
dotage,  which  may  be  sometimes  covered,  but  not  hidden,  under  a  mitre.  Swift  demol- 
ished, in  his  day,  NVoods  and  his  bad  halfpence ;  Doyle  denounced  Daniel  and  his  box  of 
coppers.  A  provision  for  the  star\'ing  Irish  was  called  for  by  'the  Dean,'  and  was  sued 
for  by  'J.  K.  L.'  Alas  !  when  will  the  Government  awaken  to  the  voice  of  our  island's 
bestand  most  enlightened  patriots?  Truly,  it  hath  '  Moses  and  the  prophets  '—doth  the 
Legislature  wait  until  one  come  from  the  dead  ?  " 

Doyle  is  since  dead— but  "  defunctus  adhuc  loquitur  !  "— O.  V. 


6S  The  Works  of  Father  Protct. 

counsel  of  an  inscrutable  Providence,  whose  decree  was  to  be  fulfilled  in  the 
prostration  of  a  mighty  understanding — 

AlOf    3'   £T£\£l£TO    (3ov\lJ. 

And  here  let  me  pause— for  a  sadly  pleasing  reminiscence  steals  across  my 
mind,  a  recollection  of  youthful  days.  I  love  to  fix,  in  its  flight,  a  transitory 
idea  ;  and  I  freely  plead  the  privilege  of  discursiveness  conceded  to  the  garru- 
lity of  old  age.  When  my  course  of  early  travel  led  me  to  wander  in  search 
of  science,  and  I  sought  abroad  that  scholastic  knowledge  which  was  denied  to 
us  at  home  in  those  evil  days  ;  when,  by  force  of  legislation,  I  became  like 
others  of  my  clerical  brethren,  a  "peripatetic"  philosopher — like  them  com- 
pelled to  perambulate  some  part  of  Europe  in  quest  of  professional  education — 
the  sunny  provinces  of  southern  France  were  the  regions  of  my  choice ;  and 
my  first  gleanings  of  literature  were  gathered  on  the  banks  of  that  mighty 
stream  so  faithfully  characterized  by  Burdigala's  native  poet  Ausonius,  in  his 
classic  enumeration  : 

"Lentus  Arar,  Rhodanusque  celer,  PLENUSque  Garumn.\." 

One  day,  a  goatherd,  who  fed  his  shagg\^  flock  along  the  river  was  heard  by  me, 
as,  seated  on  the  lofty  bank,  he  gazed  on  the  shining  flood,  to  sing  a  favourite 
carol  of  the  country.  'Twas  but  a  simple  ballad;  yet  it  struck  me  as  a  neat 
illustration  of  the  ancient  parallel  between  the  flow  of  human  life  and  the 
course  of  the  running  waters  ;  and  thus  it  began  : 

"  Salut !  O  vieux  fleuve,  qui  coulez  par  la  plaine  ! 
Helas  I  un  meme  cours  ici  bas  nous  entraine— 

Egal  est  en  tout  notre  sort : 
Tous  deux  nous  foumissons  la  meme  carrifere  ; 
Car  un  meme  destin  nous  mene,  O  riviere  I — 

\'ous  II  la  mer  I  nous  a  la  mort !  " 

So  sang  the  rustic  minstrel.  But  it  has  occurred  to  me,  calmly  and  sorrowfully 
pondering  on  the  fate  of  Swift,  that  although  this  melancholy  resemblance,  so 
often  alluded  to  in  Scriptural  allegor>',  may  hold  good  in  the  general  fortunes  of 
mankind,  still  has  it  been  denied  to  some  to  complete  in  their  personal  history 
the  sad  similitude ;  for  not  a  few,  and  these  some  of  the  most  exalted  of  our 
species,  have  been  forbidden  to  ghde  into  the  Ocean  of  Eternity  bringing  there- 
unto the  fulness  of  their  life-current  with  its  brimming  banks  undrained. 

Who  that  has  ever  gazed  on  the  glorious  Rhine,  coeval  in  historic  memory 
with  the  first  Caesar,  and  boasting  much  previous  traditionary  renown,  at  the 
spot  where  it  gushes  froni  its  Alpine  source,  would  not  augur  to  it,  with  the 
poet,  an  uninterrupted  career,  and  an  ever-growing  volume  of  copious  exuber- 
ance? 

"Au  pied  du  Mont  Adulle,  entre  mille  roseaux, 
Le  Rhin  tranquil,  et  fier  du  progr6s  de  ses  eaux, 
Appuyti  d'une  main  sur  son  ume  penchante, 
S'endort  au  bruit  flatteur  de  son  onde  naissante." 

BoiLE.\u. 

Wlience  if  it  is  viewed  sweeping  in  brilliant  cataracts  through  many  a  moun- 
tain glen,  and  many  a  woodland  scene,  until  it  glides  from  the  realms  of  romance 
into  the  business  of  life,  and  forms  the  majestic  boundary  of  two  rival  nations, 
conferring  benefits  on  both— reflecting  from  the  broad  expanse  of  its  waters 
anon  the  mellow  vineyards  of  Johannisbcrg,  anon  the  hoary  crags  of  Drachen- 
fels— who  then  could  venture  to  foretell  that  so  splendid  an  alliance  of  useful- 
ness and  grandeur  was  destined  to  be  dissolved— that  yon  rich  flood  would 


Dcaii  Siuiffs  Madness.  69 

never  gain  that  ocean  into  whose  bosom  a  thousand  rivulets  flow  on  with 
unimpeded  gravitation,  but  would  disappear  in  the  quagmires  of  Helvoetsluys, 
be  lost  in  the  swamps  of  Flanders,  or  absorbed  in  the  sands  of  Holland  ? 

Yet  such  is  the  course  of  the  Rhine,  and  such  was  the  destiny  of  Swift, — of 
that  man  the  outpounngs  of  whose  abundant  mind  fertilized  alike  the  land  of 
his  fathers*  and  the  land  of  his  birth  :  that  man  the  ver\- overflowings  of  whose 
strange  genius  were  looked  on  by  his  contemporaries  with  delight,  and 
welcomed  as  the  inundations  of  the  Nile  are  hailed  by  the  men  of  Egypt. 

A  deep  and  hallowed  motive  impels  me  to  select  that  last  and  drean-  period 
of  his  career  for  the  subject  of  special  analysis  ;  to  elucidate  its  secret'history, 
and  to  examine  it  in  all  its  bearings  ;  ehminating  conjecture,  and  substituting 
fact  ;  prepared  to  demolish  the  visionary  superstructure  of  h}-pothesis,  and  to 
place  the  matter  on  its  simple  basis  of  truth  and  reality. 

It  is  -  far  from  my  purpose  and  far  from  my  heart  to  tread  on  such  solemn 
ground  save  with  becoming  awe  and  with  feet'  duly  unshodden.  If,  then,  in 
the  following  pages,  I  dare  to  unseal  the  long- closed  well,  think  not  that  I 
seek  to  desecrate  the  fountain  :  if  it  devolves  on  me  to  lift  the  veil,  fear  not 
that  I  mean  to  profane  the  sanctuary  :  tarry  until  this  paper  shall  have  been 
perused  to  its  close;  nor  will  it  fall  from  your  grasp  without  leaving  behind  it 
a  conviction  that  its  contents  were  traced  by  no  unfriendly  hand,  and  by  no 
unii'arranted  biographer  :  for  if  a  bald  spot  were  to  be  found  on  the  head  of 
Jonathan  Swift,  the  hand  of  Andrew  Prout  should  be  the  first  to  cover  it  with 
laurels. 

There  is  a  something  sacred  about  insanity  :  the  traditions  of  ever}'  country 
agree  in  flinging  a  halo  of  mysterious  distinction  around  the  unhappy  mortal 
stricken  with  so  sad  and  so  lonely  a  visitation.  The  poet  who  most'  studied 
from  nature  and  least  from  books,  the  immortal  Shakespeare,  has  never  made 
our  souls  thrill  with  more  intense  sympathy  than  when  his  personages  are 
brought  before  us  bereft  of  the  guidance  of  reason.  The  grey  hairs  of  King 
Lear  are  silvered  over  with  additional  veneration  when  he  raves;  and  the  wild 
flower  of  insanity  is  the  tenderest  that  decks  the  pure  garland  of  Ophelia. 
The  story  of  Orestes  has  furnished  Greek  tragedy  with  its  most  powerful 
emotions  ;  and  never  did  the  mighty  Talma  sway  wii'h  more  irresistible  domin- 
ion the  assembled  men  of  France,  than  when  he  personated  tl.e  furv-driven 
maniac  of  Euripides,  revived  on  the  French  stage  by  the  muse  of  Voltaire. 
We  know  that  among  rude  and  untutored  nations  madness  is  of  rare  occur- 
rence, and  its  instances  few  indeed.  But  though  its  frequency  in  more  refined 
and  ci\-ilized  society  has  taken  away  much  of  the  deferential  homage  paid  to 
it  in  primitive  times,  still,  in  the  palmiest  days  of  Greek  and  Roman  illumina- 
tion, the  oracles  of  Delphi  found  their  fitting  organ  in  the  frenzv  of  the 
Pythoness ;  and  through  such  channels  does  the  Latin  lyrist  represent  the 
Deity  communicating  with  man  : 


quatit 


Mentem  sacerdotum  incola  Pjthius." 

But  let  us  look  into  our  own  breasts,  and  acknowledge  that,  with  all  the  fastid- 
ious pride  of  fancied  superiority,  and  in  the  full  plenitude  of  our  undimmed 
reason,  we  cannot  face  the  breathing  ruin  of  a  noble  intellect  undismayed. 
The  broken  sounds,  the  vague  intensity  of  that  gaze,  those  whisperings  that 
seem  to  commune  with  the  world  of  spirits,  the  play  of  those  features,  still 
impressed  with  the  signet  of  immortahty,  though  illegible  to  our  eye,  strike 
us  with  that  awe  which  the  obelisk  of  the  desert,  with  its  insculptured  riddles, 
inspires  into  the  Arabian  shepherd.     An  oriental  opinion  makes  such  beings 

*  Prout  supposes  Sw-ift  to  have  been  a  natural  son  of  Sir  William  Temple,    We  believe 
mm  in  error  here.  — O.  Y. 


the  favourites  of  Heaven  :  and  the  strong  tincture  of  eastern  ideas,  so  discern- 
ible on  many  points  in  Ireland,  is  here  also  perceptible ;  for  a  born  idiot 
among  the  offspring  of  an  Irish  cabm  is  prized  us  a  family  palladium. 

To  contemplate  what  was  once  great  and  resplendent  in  the  eyes  of  man 
slowly  mouldering  in  decay,  has  never  been  an  unprofitable  exercise  of  thought; 
and  to  muse  over  reason  itself  fallen  and  prostrate,  cannot  fail  to  teach  us  our 
complete  deficiency.  If  to  dwell  among  ruins  and  amid  sepulchres — to  explore 
the  pillared  grandeur  of  the  tenantless  Palmyra,  or  the  crumbling  wreck  of  that 
Roman  amphitheatre  once  manned  with  applauding  thousands  and  rife  with 
joy,  now  overgrown  with  shrubs  and  haunted  by  the  owl  —if  to  soliloquize  in 
the' valley  where  autumnal  leaves  are  thickly  strewn,  ever  remmding  us  by  their 
incessant  rustle,  as  we  tread  the  path,  "  that  all  that's  briglrt  must  fade;  "—if 
these  things  beget  that  mood  of  soul  in  which  the  suggestions  of  Heaven 
find  readiest  adoption,— how  forcibly  must  the  wreck  of  mitld  itself,  and  the 
mournful  aberrations  of  that  faculty  by  which  most  we  assimilate  to  our  Maker, 
humble  our  self-sufficiency,  and  bend  down  our  spirit  in  adoration !  It  is  in 
truth  a  sad  bereavement,' a  dissevering  of  ties  long  cherished,  a  parting  scene 
melancholy  to  witness,  when  the  ethereal  companion  of  this  clay  takes  its 
departure,  an  outcast  from  the  earthly  coil  that  it  once  animated  with  intel- 
lectual fire,  and  wanders  astray,  cheerless  and  friendless,  beyond  the  picturings 
of  poetry  to  describe;— a  picture  realized  in  Swift,  who,  more  than  Adrian,  was 
entitled  to  exclaim  : 


Animula  vagula,  blandula, 
Hospes  comesque  corporis. 
Qua;  nunc  abibis  in  loca  ? 
Pallidula,  rigida,  nudula, 
Nee,  ut  soles,  dabis  jocos  I  " 


"  Wee  soul,  fond  rambler,  whither,  say, 
Whither,  boon  comrade,  fieest  away  ? 
Ill  canst  thou  bear  the  bitter  blast — 
Houseless,  unclad,  affright,  aghast  ; 
Jocund  no  more  !  and  hush'd  the  mirth 
That  gladden'd  oft  the  sons  of  earth  ! " 

Nor  unloth  am  I  to  confess  that  such  contemplations  have  won  upon  me  in 
the  decline  of  years.  Youth  has  its  appropriate  pursuits  ;  and  to  him  who 
stands  on  the  threshold  of  life,  with  all  its  gaieties  and  festive  hours  spread  in 
alluring  blandishment  before  him,  such  musings  may  come  amiss,  and  such 
studies  may  offer  no  attraction.  We  are  then  eager  to  mingle  in  the  crowd  of 
active  existence,  and  to  mix  with  those  who  swarm  and  jostle  each  other  on 
the  molehill  of  this  world — 

"Towered  cities  please  us  then. 
And  the  busy  hum  of  men  I  " 

But  to  me,  numbering  fourscore  years,  and  full  tired  of  the  frivolities  of 
modern  wisdom,  metaphysical  inquiry  returns  with  all  its  charms,  fresh  as 
when  first  I  courted,  in  the  halls  of  Sorbonne,  the  science  of  the  soul.  On 
this  barren  hill  where  my  lot  is  fallen,  in  that  "  sunset  of  life"  which  is  said  to 
"  bring  mystical  lore,"  I  love  to  investigate  subjects  such  as  these. 

"  And  may  my  lamp,  at  midnight  hour. 
Be  seen  in  some  high,  lonely  tower. 
Seeking,  with  Plato,  to  unfold 
What  realms  or  what  vast  regions  hold 
Th'  immortal  soul  that  hath  forsook 
Its  mansion  in  this  fleshy  nook  ! 
And  may,  at  length,  my  weary  age 
Find  out  some  peaceful  hermitage. 
Till  old  experience  doth  attain 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain  !" 

To  fix  the  precise  limits  w^here  sober  reason's  well-regulated  dominioris  end 
and  at  what  bourne  the  wild  region  of  the  fanciful  commences,  extending  in 
many  a  tract  of  lengthened  wilderness  until  it  joins  the  remote  and  volcanic 
territory  of  downright   insanity,  —were  a  task  which   the  most  deeply-read 


Dean  Sivifls  Madness.  yi 


psychologist  Inight  attempt  in  vain.  Hopeless  would  be  the  endeavour  to 
settle  the  exact  confines ;  for  nowhere  is  there  so  much  debatable  ground,  so 
much  unmarked  frontier,  so  much  undetermined  bolmdar}^  The  deo-rees  of 
longitude  and  latitude  have  never  been  laid  down,  nor,'  that  I  learn,  ever 
calculated  at  all,  for  want  of  a  really  sensible  solid  man  to  act  the  part  of  a 
first  meridian.  'Ihe  same  remark  is  applicable  to  a  congenial  subject,  viz. 
that  state  of  the  human  frame  akin  to  insanity,  and  called  intoxication  ;  for 
there  are  here  also  various  degrees  of  intensity ;  and  where  on  earth  (except 
perhaps  in  the  person  of  my  friend  Dick  Dowden)  will  you  find,  Kara  cpptva 
Kai  KUTa  dvfiov  a  SOBER  man,  according  with  the  description  in  a  hvmn  of  our 
church  htiiTgy  ? 

"  Qui  plus,  prudens,  humilis,  pudicus, 

Sobriam  duxit  sine  labe  vitam, 

Donee  humanos  ievis  afflat  aura 
Spiritus  ignes." 

Ex  officio  Brtn'.  Rom.  de  covumtui  Conf.  non 
Font,  ad  vesperas. 

I  remember  well,  when  in  1815  the  present  Lord  Chancellor  (then  simple 
Harry  Brougham)  came  to  this  part  of  the  country  (attracted  hither  by  the 
fame  of  our  Blarney-stone),  having  had  the  pleasure  of  his  society  one  suinmer 
evening  in  this  humble  dwelling,  and  conversing  with  hmi  long  and  loudly  on 
the  topic  of  inebriation.  He  had  certainly  taken  a  drop  extra,  but  perhaps 
was  therefore  better  qualified  for  debating  the  subject,  viz.  at  -what  precise 
point  driinke7i7iess  sets  i7i,  and  ivhat  is  the  exact  low  vjatcr-inai-k.  He  first 
advocated  a  three-bottle  system,  but  enlarged  his  view  of  the  question  as  he 
went  on,  until  he  reminded  me  of  those  spirits  described  by  Milton,  who 
sat  apart  on  a  hill  retired,  discussing  freevjill,  fixed  fate,  foreknouuledge 
absolute, 

"  And  found  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost  I " 

My  idea  of  the  matter  was  very  simple,  although  I  had  some  trouble  in 
bringing  him  round  to  the  true  understanding  of  things  ;  for  he  is  obstinate  by 
nature,  and,  like  the  village  schoolmaster,  whom  he  has  sent  "abroad," 

"  Even  though  vanquish'd,  he  can  argue  still." 

I  showed  him  that  the  poet  Lucretius,  in  his  elaborate  work  "  De  Xatura 
Rerum,"  had  long  since  established  a  criterion,  or  standard — a  sort  of  clepsy- 
dra, to  ascertain  the  final  departure  of  sobriety, — being  the  well-known  pheno- 
menon of  reduplication  in  the  visual  orb,  that  sort  of  second-sight  common 
among  the  Scotch  : 

"  Bina  lucemarum  flagrantia  lumina  flammis. 
Et  duplices  hominum  vultus  et  corpora  bina  1 " 

Lucretius,  lib.  iv.  452. 

But,  unfortunately,  just  as  I  thought  I  had  placed  my  opinions  in  their  most 
luminous  point  of  view,  I  found  that  poor  Harry  was  completely  fuddled,  so 
as  to  be  unconscious  of  all  I  could  urge  during  the  rest  of  the  evening ;  for, 
as  Tom  Moore  says  in  "  Lalla  Rookh," 

"  the  delicate  chain 

Of  thought,  once  tangled,  could  not  clear  again." 

It  has  long  ago  been  laid  down  as  a  maxim  by  Seneca,  that  "nullum 
magnum  ingenium  sine  mixtura  insanias."  Newton  was  decidedly  mad  when 
he  wrote  his  comment  on   Revelations;    so,    I   think,    was   Napier  of   the 


logarithms,  when  he  at  hieved  a  similar  exploit;  Burns  was  more  than  once 
labouring  under  delirium,  of  the  kind  called  ircfnens;  Tasso  was  acquainted 
witli  the  cells  of  a  madhouse  ;  Nathaniel  Lee,*  the  dramatist,  when  a  tenant 
of  Bedlam,  wrote  a  tragedy  twenty-five  acts  long  ;  and  Sophocles  was  accused 
before  the  tribunal  of  tlie  (pparpia,  and  only  acquitted  of  insanity  by  the  recita- 
tion of  his  CEd/p.  Colon.  Pascal  was  a  miserable  hypochondriac;  the  poet 
Cowper  and  the  philosopher  Rousseau  were  subject  to  lunacy;  Luis  de 
Camoens  died  raving  in  an  hospital  at  Lisbon;  and,  in  an  hospital  at 
Madrid,  the  same  fate,  with  the  same  attendant  madness,  closed  the  career 
of  the  author  of  "Don  Quixote,"  the  immortal  Miguel  Cervantes.  Shelley 
was  mad  outright;  and  Byron's  blood  was  deeply  tainted  with  maniacal 
infusion.  His  uncle,  the  eighth  lord,  had  been  the  homicide  of  his  kindred, 
and  hid  his  remorse  in  the  dismal  cloisters  of  Xewstead.  He  himself  enume- 
rates three  of  his  maternal  ancestors  \\\\o  died  by  their  own  hands.  Last 
February  (1830),  Miss  Milbanke,  in  the  books  he  has  put  forth  to  the  world, 
states  her  belief  and  that  of  her  advisers,  that  "the  Lord  Byron  was  actually 
insane."  And  in  Dr.  Millingen's  book  (the  Surgeon  of  the  Suliote  brigade) 
we  find  these  words  attributed  to  the  Childc :  "I  picture  myself  slowly  expir- 
ing on  a  bed  of  torture,  or  terminating  my  days,  like  Swift,  a  grinning  idiot." 
—Anecdotes  of  Lord  Byron's  Illness  and  Death,  by  JULIUS  MiLLINGEN, 
p.  12.0.— London. 

Strange  to  say,  few  men  have  been  more  exempt  from  the  usual  exciting 
causes  of  insanity  than  Swift.  If  ambition,  vanity,  avarice,  intemperance,  and 
the  fury  of  sexual  passion,  be  the  ordinary  determining  agents  of  lunacy,  then 
should'he  have  proudly  defied  the  approaches  of  the  evil  spirit,  and  withstood 
his  attacks.  As  for  ambitious  cravings,  it  is  well  known  that  he  sought  not  the 
smiles  of  the  court,  nor  ever  sighed  for  ecclesiastical  dignities.  Though  a 
churchman,  he  had  none  of  the  crafty,  aspiring,  and  intriguing  mania  of  a 
Wolsey  or  a  Mazann.  By  the  boldness  and  candour  of  his  writings,  he 
effectually  put  a  stop  to  that  ecclesiastical  preferment  which  the  low-rninded, 
the  cunning,  and  the  hypocrite,  are  sure  to  obtain  :  and  of  him  it  might  be 
truly  said,  that  the  doors  of  clerical  promotion  closed  while  the  gates  of  glory 
opened. 

But  even  glory  (mystic  word !),  has  it  not  its  fascmations,  too  powerful  at 
times  even  for  the  eagle  eye  of  genius,  and  capable  of  dimming  for  ever  the 
intellectual  orb  that  gazes  too  fixedly  on  its  irradiance?  How  often  has  splen- 
did talent  been  its  own  executioner,  and  the  best  gift  of  Heaven  supplied  the 
dart  that  bereft  its  possessor  of  all  that  maketh  existence  valuable  !  The  very 
intensity  of  those  feelings  which  refine  and  elevate  the  soul,  has  it  not  been 
found  to  operate  the  work  of  ruin  ? 

"  'Twas  thine  own  genius  gave  the  final  blow, 
And  help'd  to  plant  the  wound  that  laid  thee  low. 

*  This  fact  concerning  Lee  I  stumhled  on  in  that  oUa  podrida,  the  "  Curiosities  of 
Literature  "  cf  the  elder  D'Israeli.  In  his  chapter  on  the  "  Medicine  of  the  Muid  "  (vol.  i. 
second  series;  Murray,  1823),  I  find  a  passage  which  tells  for  my  theory- ;  and  I  ^there- 
fore insert  it  here,  on  the  principle  q{  jc  prcnds  inon  bieii  partout  ohjc  Ic  irottvc:  "  Plu- 
tarch says,  in  one  of  his  essays,  that  should  the  body  sue  the  mind  ni  a  cowrt  of  judica- 
ture for  damages,  it  would  be  found  that  the  mind  would  prove  to  have  been  a  most 
ruinous  tenant  to  its  landlord."  This  idea  seemed  to  nie  so  ingenious,  that  I  searched  for 
it  through  all  the  metaphysical  writings  of  the  I'.oeotian  sage  ;  and  I  find  that  Dcmocritus, 
the  laughing  jihilosoplicr,  first  made  tbe  assertion  about  the  (jreek  law  of  landlord  and 
tenant  retailed  by  him  of  Cberona;a  :  Ot^ai  /xaAto-ra  tov  Arj^LO/cpiToi'  eiTreir,  loj  fi  to  <TUi\ia. 
hi.Ka.aa.no  rr\  i//i'xrj.  (ca/cw(7eaj?  ovk  av  avrqv  aTroijwyeLi'.  'J'lieophrastus  enlarges  on  the 
same  topic:  Wfo^pao-TOs  aArj^t?  tiTrti-,  iro\v  r<x>  o-w/xart  TeAeir  ei'oi/cior  ttji'  ipvxiV'- 
IIAeioi/d  ^f t'TOi  TO  (TUifxa  ttj?  ^vxr}<:  a.7ro\avei  KaKa,  fxr)  Kaia  koyov  avTw  Xpt>JMf''OS-  ^^"^  the 
magnificent  edition  of  Plutarch's  Moral  Treatises,  from  the  Clarendon  press  of  Oxford, 
1795,  being  IIAOYT.  TA  H0IKA,  torn,  i.  p.  375.— Prout. 


Dean  Swiff s  Madness,  73 

So  the  struck  eagle,  stretch'd  upon  the  plain. 
No  more  through  rolling  clouds  to  soar  again. 
Views  his  own  feather  on  the  fatal  dart 
Which  wing'd  the  shaft  that  quivers  in  his  heart. 
Keen  are  his  pangs,  but  keener  far  to  feel 
He  nursed  the  pinion  that  impell'd  the  steel ; 
While  the  same  plumage  that  had  warm'd  his  nest 
Drinks  the  last  life-drop  of  his  bleeding  breast." 

So  Byron  sings  in  his  happiest  mood  ;  and  so  had  sung  before  him  a  young 
French  poet,  who  died  in  early  life,  worn  out  by  his  own  fervour  : 

"  Oui,  I'homme  ici  bas  aux  talents  condamne, 
Sur  la  terre  en  passant  sublime  infortune, 
Ne  peut  impunement  achever  une  vie 
Que  le  Ciel  surchargea  du  fardeau  du  genie  ! 
Souvent  il  meurt  brule  de  ces  celestes  feux  .  .  . 
Tel  quelquefois  I'oiseau  du  souverain  des  dieux, 
L'aigle,  tombe  du  haut  des  plaines  immortelles, 
B?-xiU  ciii/oudre  ardent  quil portait  sous  ses  ailes !  " 

Chexedolle. 

I  am  fully  aware  that  in  Swift's  case  there  was  a  common  rumour  among  his 
countrymen  in  Ireland  at  the  time,  that  over-study  and  too  much  learning  had 
disturbed  the  equilibrium  of  the  doctor's  brain,  and  unsettled  the  equipoise  of 
his  cerebellum.  The  "most  noble"  Festus,  who  was  a  well-bred  Italian 
gentleman,  fell  into  the  same  vulgar  error  long  ago  with  respect  to  St.  Paul,  and 
opined  that  much  literature  had  made  of  him  a  madman  !  But  surely  such  a 
sad  confusion  of  materialism  and  spiritualism  as  that  misconception  implies  will 
not  require  refutation.  The  villagers  in  Goldsmith's  beautiful  poem  may  have 
been  excusable  for  adopting  so  unscientific  a  theory ;  but  beyond  the  sphere  of 
rustic  sages  the  hypothesis  is  intolerable  : 

"  And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  their  wonder  grew. 
That  one  small  head  could  carry'  all  he  knew  ! " 

How  can  the  ethereal  and  incorporate  stores  of  knov.ledge  become  a  physical 
weight,  and  turn  out  an  incumbrance,  exercising  undue  pressure  on  the  human 
brain? — how  can  mental  acquirement  be  described  as  a  body  ponderous? 
What  folly  to  liken  the  crevices  of  the  cerebral  gland  to  the  fissures  in  an  old 
barn  bursting  with  the  riches  of  a  collected  harvest ! — ■i-uperunt  horrea  tiiesses 
—or  to  the  crazy  bark  of  old  Charon,  when,  being  only  fitted  for  the  light 
waftage  of  ghosts,  it  received  the  bulky  personage  of  the  -■Eneid  : 

"  Gemuit  sub  pondere  cymba 
Sutilis,  ac  multam  accepit  rimosa  paludem." — Lib.  vi. 

Away  with  such  fantiisies  !  The  more  learned  we  grow,  the  better  organized 
is  our  mind,  the  more  prejudices  we  shake  off;  and  the  stupid  error  which  I 
combat  is  but  a  pretext  and  consolation  for  ignorance. 

The  delusions  of  love  swayed  not  the  stern  mind  of  the  Dean  of  St. 
Patrick's,  nor  could  the  frenzy  of  passion  ever  overshadow  his  clear  under- 
standing. Like  a  bark  gliding  along  a  beautiful  and  regular  canal,  the  soft 
hand  of  woman  could,  with  a  single  riband,  draw  him  onward  in  a  fair  and 
well-ordered  channel  ;  but  to  drag  him  out  of  his  course  into  any  devious  path, 
it  was  not  in  nature  nor  the  most  potent  fascination  to  accomplish.  Stella,  the 
cherished  companion  of  his  life,  his  secretly  wedded  bride,  ever  exercised  a 
mild  influence  over  his  affections  — 

"  And  rose,  where'er  he  turn'd  his  eye, 
The  morning  star  of  memory-." 

But  his  acquaintanceship  with  Vanessa  (Mrs.  Vanhomrigg)  was  purely  of  that 
description  supposed  to  have  been  introduced  by  Plato.     For  my  part',  having 


74  TJie  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 

embraced  celibacy,  I  am  perhaps  little  qualified  for  the  discussion  of  these 
delicate  matters  ;  but  I  candidly  confess,  that  never  did  Goldsmith  so  win  upon 
my  good  opinion,  by  his  superior  knowledge  of  those  recondite  touches  that 
ennoble  the  favourite  character  of  a  respectable  divine,  as  when  he  attributes 
severe  and  uncompromising  tenets  of  monogamy  to  Dr.  Primrose,  vicar  of 
Wakefield ;  that  being  the  next  best  state  to  the  one  which  I  have  adopted 
myself,  in  accordance  with  the  Platonic  philosophv  of  Virgil,  and  the  example 
of  Paul : 

"  Quique  sacerdotes  casti,  dum  vita  vianebat ; 
Quique  pii  vates,  et  Phoebo  digna  locuti  ; 
Omnibus  his  nivea  cinguntur  tempora  viia  I  " 

^^iicid.    VI. 

The  covetousness  of  this  world  had  no  place  in  the  breast  of  Swift,  and 
never,  consequently,  was  his  mind  liable  to  be  shaken  from  its  basis  by  the  in- 
roads of  that  overwhelming  vice,  avarice.  Broad  lands  and  manorial  posses- 
sions he  never  sighed  for ;  and,  as  Providence  had  granted  him  a  competency, 
he  could  well  adopt  the  resignation  of  the  poet,  and  exclaim,  "Nil  amplius 
oro."  Nothing  amused  him  more  than  the  attempt  of  his  friend  Doctor 
Delany  to  excite  his  jealousy  by  the  ostentatious  display  of  his  celebrated  villa, 
which'  as  soon  as  purchased,  he  invited  the  Dean  to  come  and  admire.  We 
have  the  humorous  lines  of  descriptive  poetry  which  were  composed  by  Swift 
on  the  occasion,  and  were  well  calculated  to  destroy  the  doctor's  vanity.  The 
estate  our  satirist  represents  as  liable  to  suffer  "an  eclipse  of  the  sun"  wher- 
ever "a  crow  "  or  other  small  opaque  body  should  pass  between  it  and  that 
luminary.     The  plantations  "  might  possibly  supply  a  toothpick  ;" 

"  And  the  stream  that's  call'd  ^Meander' 
Might  be  suck'd  up  by  a  gander  I " 

Such  were  the  sentiments  of  utter  derision  with  which  he  contemplated  the 
territorial  aggrandizement  so  dear  to  the  votaries  of  Mammon ;  nor  is  it 
foreign  from  this  topic  to  remark,  that  the  contrary  extreme  of  hopeless 
poverty  not  having  ever  fallen  to  his  lot,  one  main  cause  of  insanity  in  high 
minds  was  removed.  Tasso  went  mad  through  sheer  distress  and  its  concomi- 
tant shame  ;  the  fictions  of  his  romantic  love  for  a  princess  of  the  Court  of 
Ferrara  are  all  fudge  :  he  had  at  one  time  neither  fire  nor  a  decent  coat  to  his 
back ;  and  he  tells  us  that,  having  no  lamp  in  his  garret,  he  resorted  to  his  cat 
to  lend  him  the  glare  of  her  eyes  : 

"  Non  avendo  candele  per  iscrivere  i  suoi  versi  I " 

Intemperance  and  debauchery  pever  interfered  with  the  quiet  tenour  of  the 
Deans  domestic  habits  ;  and  hence  the  medical  and  constitutional  causes  of 
derangement  flowing  from  these  sources  must  be  considered  as  null  in  this 
case.  I  have  attentively  perused  the  best  record  extant  of  his  private  life — his 
own  "Journal  to  Stella,"  detailing  his  sojourn  in  London;  and  I  find  his  diet 
to  have  been  such  as  I  could  have  wished. 

"London,  Oct.  1711. — Mrs.  Vanhomrigg  has  changed  her  lodgings — I  dined 
with  her  to-day.  I  am  growing  a  mighty  lover  of  herrings  ;  but  they  are  much 
smaller  here  than  with  you.  In  the  afternoon  I  visited  an  old  major-general, 
and  ate  six  oysters." — Letter  32,  p.  384,  in  Scott' s  edition  of  Siiuft. 

"I  was  invited  to-day  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Vanhomrigg,  with  some  company 
who  did  not  come;   but  I  ate  nothing  but  herrings." — Same  Letter,  p.  388. 

"Oct.  23,  1711.  -I  was  forced  to  be  at  the  secretary's  office  till  four,  and 
lost  my  dinner.  So  I  went  to  Mrs.  Van's,  and  made  them  get  me  three  herrings, 
which  I  am  very  fond  of.  And  they  are  a  light  victuals"  {sic.  in  orig.). — 
Letter  33,  p.  400. 


Dean  Swift's  Madness.  75 


He  further  shows  the  lively  interest  he  always  evinced  for  fish  diet  by  the 
following  passage,  which  occurs  in  a  publication  of  his  printed  in  Dublin,  1732, 
and  entftled  "An  Examination  of  Certain  Abuses.  Corruptions,  and  Enor- 
mities in  this  Citv  of  Dublm.     By  Dr.  Jonathan  Swift,  D.D." 

"The  affirmation  solemnly  made  in  the  cry  of  Herrings  !  is  against  all  truth, 
viz.  '  Herrings  alive,  ho  ! '  The  very  proverb  w  ill  convince  us  of  this  ;  for  what 
is  more  frequent  in  ordinary  speech  than  to  say  of  a  neighbour  for  whom  the 
bell  tolls,  '  He  is  dead  as  a  herring  ! '  And  pray,  how  is  it  possible  that  a  hening, 
which,  as  philosophers  obser\-e,  cannot  hve  longer  than  one  minute  three 
seconds  and  a  half  out  of  water,  should  bear  a  voyage  in  open  boats  from 
Howth  to  Dublin,  be  tossed  into  twenty  hands,  and  preserve  its  life  in  sieves 
for  several  hours  ?  " 

The  sense  of  loneliness  consequent  on  the  loss  of  friends,  and  the  with- 
drawal of  those  whose  companionship  made  life  pleasant,  is  not  unfrequently 
the  cause  of  melancholv  monomania:  but  it  could  not  have  affected  Swift, 
whose  residence  in  Dublin  had  estranged  him  long  previously  from  those  who 
at  that  period  died  awav.  Gav,  his  bosom  friend,  had  died  in  December,  1732; 
BoUngbroke  had  retired  to  France  in  1734;  Pope  was  become  a  hypochondriac 
from  bodilv  infirmities  ;  Dr.  Arbuthnot  was  extinct;  and  he,  the  admirer  and 
the  admired  of  Swift,  John  of  Blenheim,  the  illustrious  Marlborough,  had  pre- 
ceded him  in  a  madhouse  ! 

"  Down  Marlborough's  cheeks  the  tears  of  dotage  flow." 
A  lunatic  asvlum  was  the  last  refuge  of  the  warrior— if,   indeed,  he  and  his 
fellows  of  the  conquering  fraternity  were  not  candidates  for  it  all  along  intrin- 
sically and  professionally, 

"  From  Macedonia's  madman  to  the  Swede." 

Thus,  although  the  Dean  might  have  truly  felt  like  one  who  treads  alone  some 
deserted  banquet-hall  (according  to  the  beautiful  simile  of  the  Melodist),  still 
we  cannot,  with  the  slightest  semblance  of  probability,  trace  the  outbreak  of  his 
madness  to  any  sympathies  of  severed  friendship. 

If  Swift  ever  nourished  a  predominant  affection— if  he  was  ever  really  under  the 
dominion  of  a  nihng  passion,  it  was  that  of  pure  and  disinterested  love  of  countr>' ; 
and  were  he  ever  liable  to  be  hurried  into  insane  excess  by  an  overpowering  enthu- 
siasm, it  was  the  patriot's  madness  that  had  the  best  chance  of  prostrating  his 
mightv  soul.  His  works  are  the  imperishable  proofs  of  the  sincere  and 
enhgh'tened  attachment  which  he  bore  an  island  connected  with  him  by  no 
hereditary  recollections,  but  merely  bv  the  accident  of  his  birth  at  Cashel. 

We  read  in  the  sacred  Scriptures  (Eccles.  vii.  7).  that  the  sense  of  "oppres- 
sion maketh  a  man  mad;"  and  whosoever  will  peruse  those  splendid  effusions 
of  a  patriotic  soul,  "The  Story  of  an  Injured  Lady"  (Dubhn,  1725),  "Maxims 
controlled  m  Ireland"  (Dubhn.  1724),  "  Miserable  State  of  Ireland  (Dublin 
1727),  must  arise  from  the  perusal  impressed  with  the  integrity  and  fervour  of 
the  Dean's  love  of  his  oppressed  countr>'.  The  "  Maxims  controlled  develop, 
according  to  that  highly  competent  authority,  Edmund  Burke,  the  deepest  and 
most  statesmanhke  views  ever  taken  of  the  mischievous  mismanagement  that 
has  constantly  marked  England's  conduct  towards  her  sister  island.  In  the 
"  Miserable  S'tate,  &c.,"  we  have  evidence  that  the  wretched  peasantry  at  that 
time  was  at  just  the  same  stage  of  civilization  and  comfort  as  they  are  at  the 
present  day;  for  we  find  the  Dean  thus  depicting  a  state  of  things  which  none 
but  an  Irish  landlord  could  read  without  blushing  for  human  nature— "  There 
are  thousands  of  poor  creatures  who  think  themselves  blessed  if  thev  can 
obtain  a  hut  worse  than  the  squire's  dog-kennel,  and  a  piece  of  ground  for 
potato-plantation,  on  condition  of  being  as  very  slaves  as  any  in  America, 
staning  in  the  midst  of  plenty."     Further  on,  he  informs  us  of  a  singtilar  item 


7 6  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 


of  the  then  traffic  of  the  Irish  : — "  Our  fraudulent  trade  in  wool  to  France  is 
the  best  branch  of  our  commerce." 

And  in  his  "  Proposal  for  the  Use  of  Irish  Manufactures,"  which  was  prose- 
cuted by  the  Government  of  the  day, and  described  by  the  learned  judge  who 
sent  the  case  to  the  jury  as  a  plot  to  bring  in  the  Pretender  !  we  have  this  wool- 
traffic  again  alluded  to  :  "  Our  beneficial  export  of  wool  to  France  has  been  our 
only  supp")rt  for  several  years  :  we  convey  our  wool  there,  in  spite  of  all  the 
harpies  of  the  custom-house.  "  In  this  tract,  he  introduces  the  story  of  Pallas 
and  the  nymph  Arachne,  whom  the  goddess,  jealous  of  her  spinning,  changed 
into  a  spider  ;  and  beautifully  apphes  the  allegorj'to  the  commercial  restrictions 
imposed  by  the  sister-country  on  Ireland.  "Arachne  was  allowed  still  to  spin  ; 
but  Britain  will  take  our  bowels,  and  convert  them  into  the  web  and  warp  of  her 
own  exclusive  and  intolerant  industr\-." 

Of  the  "Drapier's  Letters,"  and  the  signal  discomfiture  of  the  base-currency 
scheme  attempted  by  William  Woods,  it  were  superfluous  to  speak.  Never  v/as 
there  a  more  barefaced  attempt  to  swindle  the  natives  than  the  copper  imposition 
of  that  notorious  hardwareman  ;  and  the  only  thing  that  in  modern  times  can 
be  placed  in  juxtaposition,  is  the  begging-box  of  O'Connell.  O  for  a  Drapier 
to  expose  that  second  and  most  impudent  scheme  for  victimizing  a  deluded  and 
starving  peasantry  ! 

The  Scotch  rebellion  of  1745  found  the  Dean  an  inmate  of  his  last  sad 
dwelling — his  own  hospital ;  but  the  crisis  awakened  all  his  energies,  and  he 
found  an  inter\-al  to  publish  that  address  to  his  fellow-countr\-men  which  some 
attributed  to  the  Lord-Lieutenant  Chesterfield,  but  which  bears  intrinsic  evidence 
of  his  pen.  It  is  printed  by  Sir  W.  Scott,  in  the  appendix  of  the  "  Drapier's 
Letters."  There  is  a  certain  chemical  preparation  called  sympathetic  ink, 
which  leaves  no  trace  on  the  paper  ;  but  if  applied  to  the  heat  of  a  fire,  the 
characters  will  become  at  once  legible.  Such  was  the  state  of  Swift's  soul— a 
universal  blank ;  but  when  brought  near  the  sacred  flame  that  burnt  on  the 
altar  of  his  countr}',  his  mind  recovered  for  a  time  its  clearness,  and  found  means 
to  communicate  its  patriotism.  Touch  but  the  interests  of  Ireland,  and  the 
madman  was  sane  again  ;  such  was  the  mysterious  nature  of  the  visitation. 

' '  O  Reason  !  who  shall  say  what  spells  renew, 
When  least  we  look  for  it,  thy  broken  clue  ; 
Through  what  small  vistas  o'er  the  darken 'd  brain 
The  intellectual  daybeam  bursts  again  ! 
Enough  to  show  the  maze  in  which  the  sense 
Wander'd  about,  but  not  to  guide  thee  hence — 
Enough  to  glimmer  o'er  the  ya%s-ning  wave, 
But  not  to  point  the  harbour  which  might  save  !  " 

When  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  lay  dormant  in  a  dungeon,  the  voice  of  a  song 
which  he  had  known  in  better  days  came  upon  his  ear,  and  was  the  means  of 
leading  him  forth  to  light  and  freedom  ;  but,  alas  !  Swift  was  not  led  forth  from 
his  lonely  dwelling  by  the  note  of  long-remembered  music,  the  antliem  of 
fatherland.  Gloomy  insanity  had  taken  too  permanent  possession  of  his  mind; 
and  right  well  did  he  know  that  he  should  die  a  maniac.  For  this,  a  few  years 
before  his  death,  did  he  build  unto  himself  an  asylum,  where  his  own  lunacy 
might  dwell  protected  from  the  vulgar  gaze  of  mankind.  He  felt  the  approach 
of  madness,  and,  like  Caesar,  when  about  to  fall  at  the  feet  of  Pompey's  statue, 
he  gracefully  arranged  the  folds  of  his  robe,  conscious  of  his  own  dignity  even 
in  that  melancholy  downfall.  The  Pharaohs,  we  are  told  in  Scripture,  built 
unto  themselves  gorgeous  sepulchres  :  their  pyramids  still  encumber  the  earth. 
Sardanapalus  erected  a  pyre  of  cedar-wood  and  odoriferous  spices  when  death 
was  inevitable,  and  perished  in  a  blaze  of  voluptuousness.  The  asylum  of 
Swift  will  remain  a  more  characteristic  memorial  than  the  sepulchres  of  Egypt, 
and  a  more  honourable  funeral  pyre  than  that  heaped  up  by  the  Assyrian  king. 


Dean  Siviffs  Madness.  yj 


He  died  mad,  among  fellow-creatures  similarly  visited,  but  sheltered  by  his 
munificence;  and  it  now  devolves  on  me  to  reveal  to  the  world  the  unknown 
cause  of  that  sad  calamity. 

I  have  stated  that  his'  affections  were  centred  in  that  accomplished  woman, 
the  refined  and  gentle  Stella,  to  whom  he  had  been  secretly  married.  The 
reasons  for  such  secrecy,  though  perfectly  familiar  to  me,  may  not  be  di\-ulged ; 
but  enough  to  know  that  the  Dean  acted  in  this  matter  with  his  usual  sagacity. 
An  infant  son  was  bom  of  that  marriage  after  many  a  lengthened  year,  and  in 
this  child  were  concentrated  all  the  energies  of  the  father's  r.ffection,  and  all  the 
sensibilities  of  the  mother's  heart.  In  him  did  the  Dean  fondly  hope  to  Hve  on 
when  his  allotted  days  should  fail,  like  unto  the  self-promised  immortality 
of  the  bard — "  Xon  omnis  moriar,  multaque  pars  mei  vitabit  Libitinam  !  " 
How  vain  are  the  hopes  of  man!  That"  child  most  unaccountably,  most 
mvsteriously  disappeared  ;  no  trace,  no  clue,  no  shadow  of  conjectiue,  could 
point  out  what  had  become  its  destiny,  and  who  were  the  contrivers  of  this 
sorrowful  bereavement.  The  babe  was  gone  !  and  no  comfort  remained  to  a 
desponding  father  in  this  most  poignant  of  human  afflictions. 

In  a  copy  of  Verses  composed  on  his  own  Death,  the  Dean  indulges  in  a 
humorous  anticipation  of  the  motives  that  would  not  fail  to  be  ascribed,  as 
determining  his  mind  to  make  the  singular  disposal  of  his  property  which  gaiter 
the  loss  of  his  only  child)  he  resolved  on  : 

"  He  gave  the  litde  wealth  he  had 
To  build  a  house  for  people  mad. 
To  show,  by  one  satiric  touch. 
No  nation  wanted  it  so  much." 

But  this  bitter  pleasantry  only  argued  the  sad  inroads  which  grief  was  making 
in  his  heart.  The  love  of  offspring,  which  the  Greeks  call  csTooyi]  (and  which 
is  said  to  be  strongest  in  the  storkt,  was  eminently  perceptible  in  the  diagnosis 
of  the  Dean's  consdtution.  Sorrow  for  the  loss  of  his  child  bowed  down  his 
head  eventually  to  the  grave,  and  unsettled  a  mind  the  most  clear  and  well- 
regulated  that  philosophy  and  Christianity  could  form. 

These  papers  will  not  meet  the  public  eye  until  I  too  am  no 
more;  but  when  that  day  shall  come— when  the  pastor  of  this 

OBSCURE  UPLAND  SHALL,  IN  A  GOOD  OLD  AGE,  BE  LAID  IN  THE  EARTH  — 
WHEN  NEITHER  PRIDE  OF  BIRTH  NOR  HUMAN  APPLAUSE  CAN  MOVE  THE 
COLD    EAR    OF    THE    DEAD,     THE     SECRET    OF    THAT    CHILD'S     HISTORY,    OF 

Swift's  long-lost  child,  shall   be  told  ;    and  the  old  man  who 

HAS  departed  from  THIS  WORLD  OF  WOE  IN  PEACE,  WILL  BE  FOUND 
TO  HAVE  BEEN  THAT  LONG-SOUGHT  SON,  WHOM  WiLLIAM  WOODS,  IN 
THE  BASENESS  OF  A  VILE  VINDICTIVENESS,  FILCHED  FROM  A  FATHERS 
AFFECTIONS. 

Baffled  in  his  wicked  contrivances  by  my  venerable  father,  and  foiled  m  every 
attempt  to  brazen  out  his  notorious  scheme  of  bad  halfpence,  this  vile  tinker, 
nourishing  an  implacable  resentment  in  his  soul, 

"iEtemum  ser\-an5  sub  pectore  \'ulnus," 

resolved  to  %\Teak  his  vengeance  on  the  Dean  ;  and  sought  out  craftily  the 
most  sensidve  part  to  inflict  the  contemplated  wound.  In  the  evening  of 
October,  1741,  he  kidnapped  me,  Swift's  innocent  child,  from  my  nurse  at 
Glendalough.  and  fraudulently  hurried  off  his  capture  to  the  extrernity  of  Mun- 
ster  ;  where  he  left  me  exposed  as  a  foundling  on  the  bleak  summit  of  \\  ater- 
grasshill.  The  reader  will  easily  imagine  all  the  hardships  I  had  to  encounter 
in  this  my  first  and  most  awkward  introduction  to  my  future  parishioners. 
Often  have'  I  told  the  sorro\\-ful  tale  to  my  college  companion  in   France,  the 


78  The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


kind-hearted  and  sensitive  Cresset,  who  thus  alludes  to  me  in  the  well-known 
lines  of  his  ' '  Lutrin  Vivant : " 

"  Et  puis,  d'ailleurs,  le  petit  malheureux, 
Ouvrage  ne  d'un  auteur  anonyme, 
Ne  connaissant  parens,  ni  legitime, 
N'avaii,  en  tout  dans  ce  sterile  lieu. 
Pour  se  chauffer  que  la  grace  de  Dieu  !  " 

Some  are  bom,  says  the  philosophic  Goldsmith,  with  a  silver  spoon  in  their 
mouth,  some  with  a  wooden  ladle  ;  but  wretched  I  was  not  left  by  Woods  even 
that  miserable  implement  as  a  stock-in-trade  to  begin  the  world.  Moses  lay 
ensconced  in  a  snug  cradle  of  bulrushes  when  he  was  sent  adrift ;  but  I  was 
cast  on  the  flood  of  life  with  no  equipage  or  outfit  whatever  ;  and  found  myself, 
to  use  the  solemn  language  of  my  Lord  Byron, 

"  Sent  afloat 
With  nothing  but  the  sky  for  a  great  coat." 

But  Stop,  I  mistake.  I  had  an  appendage  round  my  neck— a  trinket,  which  I 
still  cherish,  and  by  which  I  eventually  found  a  clue  to  my  real  parentage.  It 
was  a  small  locket  of  my  mother  Stella's  hair,  of  raven  black  (a  distinctive 
feature  in  her  beauty,  which  had  especially  captivated  the  Dean)  :  around  this 
locket  was  a  Latin  motto  of  my  gifted  father's  composition,  three  simple  words, 
but  beautiful  in  their  simplicity— "  PROUT  stella  refulges  !  "  So  that, 
w^hen  I  was  taken  into  the  "  Cork  Foundling  Hospital,"  I  was  at  once  christened 
"  Prout,"  from  the  adverb  that  begins  the  sentence,  and  which,  being  the 
shortest  word  of  the  three,  it  pleased  the  chaplain  to  make  my  future  patro- 
nymic. 

Of  all  the  singular  institutions  in  Great  Britain,  philanthropic,  astronomic, 
Hunterian,  ophthalmic,  obstetric,  or  zoological,  the  "  Royal  Cork  Foundling 
Hospital,"  where  I  had  the  honour  of  matriculating,  was  then,  and  is  now, 
decidedly  the  oddest  in  principle  and  the  most  comical  in  practice.  Until  the 
happy  and  eventful  day  when  I  managed,  by  mother-wit,  to  accomplish  my 
deliverance  from  its  walls  (having  escaped  in  a  churn,  as  I  will  recount  pre- 
sently), it  was  my  unhappy  lot  to  witness  and  to  endure  all  the  varieties  of 
human  misery.  The  prince  of  Latin  song,  when  he  wishes  to  convey  to  his 
readers  an  idea  of  the  lower  regions,  and  the  abodes  of  Erebus,  begins  his 
affecting  picture  by  placing  in  the  foreground  the  souls  of  infants  taken  by  the 
mischievous  policy  of  such  institutions  from  the  mother's  breast,  and  perishing 
by  myriads  under  the  infliction  of  a  mistaken  philanthropy  : 

"  Infantumqiie  anim^e  flentes  in  lumine  primo  : 
Quos  dulcis  vitae  exsorte.s,  et  ab  i(bere  rnptos, 
Abstulit  atra  dies,  et  funere  mersit  acerbo." 

TTie  inimitable  and  philosophic  Scarron's  translation  of  this  passage  in  the 
.^neid  is  too  much  in  my  father's  own  style  not  to  give  it  insertion  : 

"  Lors  11  entend,  en  ce  lieu  sombre. 
Les  cris  aigus  d'enfants  sans  nombre. 
Pauvres  bambins  !  ils  font  grand  bruit, 
Et  braillent  de  jour  et  de  nuit — 
Peut-Ctre  faute  de  nourrice?"  S:c.,  &c. 

Encld  travcst.  6. 

But  if  I  had  leisure  to  dwell  on  the  melancholy  subject,  I  could  a  tale  unfold 
that  would  startle  the  Legislature,  and  perhaps  arouse  the  Irish  secretary  to 
examine  into  an  evil  cr>'ing  aloud  for  redress  and  suppression.  Had  my  perse- 
cutor, the  hard-hearted  coppersmith,  VVoods,  had  any  notion  of  the  sufferings 
he  entailed  on  Swift's  luckless  infant,  lie  would  never  have  exposed  me  as  an 
enfant  trouvi ;  he  would  have  been  satisfied  with  plunging  my  father  into  a 


Dean  Swiff s  Madness,  79 


madhouse,  without  handing  over  his  child  to  the  mercies  of  a  foundling  hospi- 
tal. Could  he  but  hear  my  woful  story,  I  would  engage  to  draw  "copper" 
tears  down  the  villain's  cheek. 

Darkness  and  mystery  have  for  the  last  half  century  hung  over  this  establish- 
ment ;  and  although  certain  returns  have  been  moved  for  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  public  knows  as  little  as  ever  about  the  fifteen  hundred  young 
foundlings  that  there  nestle  until  supplanted,  as  Death  collects  them  under  his 
wings,  by  a  fresh  supply  of  victims  offered  to  the  Moloch  of  \|Aeu3o-philanthropy. 
Horace  tells  us,  that  certain  proceedings  are  best  not  exhibited  to  the  general 

gaze — ■ 

"  Nee  natos  coram  populo  Medea  trucidet." 

Such  would  appear  to  be  the  policy  of  these  institutions,  the  only  provision 
which  the  Legislature  has  made  for  Irish  pauperism. 

Some  steps,  however,  have  been  taken  latterly  by  Government;  and  from  a 
paper  laid  before  Parliament  last  month  (May  1830),  it  appears  that,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  Act  of  1822.  the  annual  admissions  in  Dublin  have  fallen  from 
2,000  to  400.  But  who  w  ill  restore  to  society  the  myriads  whom  the  system  has 
butchered  ?  who  will  recall  the  slain  ?  When  the  flow  er  of  Roman  chivalry, 
under  improvident  guidance,  fell  in  the  German  forests,  "  Varus,  give  back  my 
legions  ! "  was  the  frantic  cry  wrung  from  the  bitterness  of  patriotic  sorrow. 

My  illustrious  father  has  written,  among  other  bitter  sarcasms  on  the  cruel 
conduct  of  Government  towards  the  Irish  poor,  a  treatise,  which  was  printed 
in  1729,  and  which  he  entitled  "A  Modest  Proposal  for  preventing  Poor  Chil- 
dren from  being  a  Burden  to  their  Parents."  He  recommends,  in  sober 
sadness,  that  they  should  be  made  into  salt  provisions  for  the  navy,  the  colonies, 
and  for  exportation;  or  eaten  fresh  and  spitted,  like  roasting-pigs,  by  the 
aldermen  of  Cork  and  Dublin,  at  their  civic  banquets.  A  quotation  from  that 
powerful  pamphlet  may  not  be  unacceptable  here  : 

"  Infant's  flesh  (quoth  the  Dean)  will  be  in  season  throughout  the  year,  but 
more  plentifully  in  March,  or  a  little  before  ;  for  we  are  told  by  a  grave  author, 
an  eminent  French  physician,  that  fish  being  a  prolific  diet,  there  are  more 
children  born  in  Roman  Catholic  countries  about  nine  months  after  Lent  than 
at  any  other  season.  Therefore,  reckoning  a  year  after  Lent,  the  markets  will 
be  more  glutted  than  usual,  because  the  number  of  Popish  infants  is  at  least 
three  to  one  in  the  kingdom  ;  and  therefore  it  will  have  one  other  collateral 
advantage,  by  lessening  the  number  of  Papists  amongst  us.  ' 

These  lines  were  clearly  penned  in  the  very  gall  and  bitterness  of  his  soul ; 
and  while  the  Irish  peasant  is  still  considered  by  the  miscreant  landlords  of 
the  country  as  less  worthy  of  his  food  than  the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  less 
entitled  to  a  legal  support  in  the  land  that  bore  him  ;  while  the  selfish  demagogue 
of  the  island  joins  in  the  common  hostility  to  the  claims  of  that  pauper  who 
makes  a  stock-purse  for  him  out  of  the  scrapings  of  want  and  penury  ;  the 
proposal  of  Swift  should  be  reprinted,  and  a  copy  sent  to  every  callous  and 
shallow-pated  disciple  of  modern  political  economy.  Poor-laws,  forsooth, 
they  cannot  reconcile  to  their  clear-sighted  views  of  Irish  legislation  •;  y^t/rr 
hospitals  and  gaols  they  admire;  grammar-schools  \h^y  will  advocate,  where 
half-star^•ed  urchins  may  drink  the  physic  of  the  soul,  and  forget  the  cravings 
of  hunger  ;  and  thev  will  provide  in  the  two  great  foundli7ig  hospitals  a  recep- 
tacle for  troublesome  infants,  who,  in  those  "white-washed  sepulchres,  soon 
cease  to  be  a  burden  on  the  community.  The  great  agitator,  — "f"^'-  'f -"^i 
wot !)  will  bring  in  "  a  bill "  for  a  grand  national  cemetery  tn 
is  the  provision  he  deigns  to  seek  for  his  starving  fellow-countrymen  . 

"  The  great  have  still  some  favour  in  reserve — ^^ 
They  help  to  bur>-  wliom  they  help  to  starve." 

*  Historical  fact.     Vide  Pari,  proceedings.— O.  Y. 


■,  meantime  (God 
n  Dublin:*  such 


8o  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

The  Dublin  Hospital,  being  supported  out  of  the  consolidated  fund,  has,  by 
the  iirgumcniiirn  ad  crumenam,  at  last  attracted  the  suspicions  of  Government, 
and  is  placed  under  a  course  of  gradual  reduction ;  but  the  Cork  nursery  is 
upheld  by  a  compulsory  local  tax  on  co.il,  amounting  to  the  incredible  sum  of 
;^6,ooo  a  year,  and  levied  on  the  unfortunate  Corkonians  for  the  support  of 
children  brought  into  their  city  from  Wales,  Connaught,  and  the  four  winds  of 
heaven  !  Three  hundred  bantlings  are  thus  annually  saddled  on  the  beautiful 
city,  with  a  never-failing  succession  of  continuous  supply  : 

"  Miranturque  novas  frondes,  et  non  sua  poma  I " 

By  the  Irish  Act  of  Parliament,  these  young  settlers  are  entitled,  on  coming  of 
age  (which  few  do),  to  claim  as  a  right  the  freedom  of  that  ancient  and  loyal 
corporation  ;  so  that,  although  of  the  great  bulk  of  them  it  may  be  said  that 
v.e  had  "  no  hand  in  their  birth,"  they  have  the  benefit  of  their  coming — "a 
place  in  the  commonwealth  "  [if a  Shakespeare). 

My  sagacious  father  used  to  exhort  his  countr>'men  to  bum  every  article  that 
came  from  England,  except  coals ;  and  in  1729  he  addressed  to  the  Dublin 
Weekly  Journal  a  series  of  letters  on  the  use  of  Irish  coals  exclusively.  But 
it  strikes  me  that,  as  confessedly  we  cannot  do  without  the  English  article  in 
the  present  state  of  trade  and  manufactures,  the  most  mischievous  tax  that  any 
Irish  seaport  could  be  visited  with  would  be  a  tonnage  on  so  vital  a  commodity 
to  the  productive  interests  of  the  community.  Were  this  v.le  impost  withdrawn 
from  Cork,  every  class  of  manufacture  would  hail  the  boon  ;  the  iron  foundr}' 
would  supply  us  at  home  with  what  is  now  brought  across  the  Channel ;  the 
glassblower's  furnace  would  glow  with  inextinguishable  fires  ;  the  steam-engine, 
that  giant  power,  as  yet  so  feebly  developed  among  us,  would  delight  to  wield 
on  our  behalf  its  energies  unfettered,  and  toil  unimpeded  for  the  national 
prosperity ;  new  enterprise  would  inspirit  the  capitalist ;  while  the  bumble 
artificer  at  the  forge  would  learn  the  tidmgs  with  satisfaction, — 

"  Relax  his  pKjnderous  strength,  and  lean  to  hear." 

Something  too  much  of  this.  But  I  have  felt  it  incumbent  on  me  to  place 
ori  record  my  honest  conviction  of  the  impolicy  of  the  tax  itself,  and  of  the 
still  greater  enormity  of  the  evil  which  it  goes  to  support.  To  return  to  my 
own  histor>'. 

In  this  "hospital,"  which  was  the  first  alma  mater  of  my  juvenile  days,  I 
graduated  in  all  the  science  of  the  young  gipsies  who  swarmed  around  me. 
^Iy  health,  which  was  naturally  robust,  bore  up  against  the  fearful  odds  of 
mortality  by  which  I  was  beset ;  and  although  I  should  have  ultimately,  no 
doubt,  perished  with  the  crowd  of  infant  sufferers  that  shared  my  evil  destiny, 
still,  like  that  favoured  Grecian  who  won  the  good  graces  of  Pol>'phemus  in 
his  anthropophagous  cavern,  a  signal  privilege  would  perhaps  have  been 
granted  me  :  Prout  would  have  been  the  last  to  be  devoured. 

But  a  ray  of  light  broke  into  my  prison-house.  The  idea  of  escape,  a  bold 
thought !  took  possession  of  my  soul.  Yet  how  to  accomplish  so  daring  an 
enterprise?  how  elude  the  vigilance  of  the  fat  door-keeper,  and  tlie  keen  eye 
of  the  chaplain?  Right  well  did  they  know  the  muster-roll  of  their  stock  of 
urchins,  and  often  verified  the  same  : 

"  Bisque  die  numerant  ambo  pecus,  alter  et  hxdos." 

Heaven,  however,  soon  granted  what  the  porter  denied.  The  milkman  from 
Watergra^shill,  who  brought  the  supplies  ever)'  morn  and  eve,  prided  himself 
particularly  on  the  si:^e  and  beauty  of  his  chum, — a  capacious  wooden  recipient 
which  my  young  eye  admired  with  more  than  superficial  curiosity.  Having  acci- 
dentally got  on  the  waggon,  and  explored  the  capacious  hollov/  of  the  machine, 


fi  bright  angel  whispered  in  my  ear  to  secrete  myself  in  the  cavity.  T  did  so  ; 
and,  shortly  after,  the  gates  of  the  hospital  were  flung  wide  for  my  egress,  and 
I  found  myself  jogging  onward  on  the  high  road  to  light  and  freedom  !  Judge 
of  my  sensations  !  Milton  has  sung  of  one  who,  "  long  in  populous  city  pent," 
makes  a  visit  to  Highgate,  and,  snuffing  the  rural  breeze,  blesses  the  country 
air  :  my  rapture  was  of  a  nature  that  defies  description.  To  be  sure,  it  was 
one  of  the  most  boisterous  days  of  storm  and  tempest  that  ever  vexed  the 
heavens;  but  secure  in  the  churn  I  chuckled  with  joy,  and  towards  evening  fell 
fast  asleep.  In  my  subsequent  life  I  have  often  dwelt  with  pleasure  on  that 
joyous  escape ;  and  when  in  my  course  of  studies  I  met  with  the  following 
beautiful  elegy  of  Simonides,  I  could  not  help  applying  it  to  myself,  and  trans- 
lated it  accordingly.  There  have  been  versions  by  Denman,  the  Queens 
solicitor  ;*  by  Elton,  by  W.  Hay,  and  by  Doctor  Jortin  ;  but  I  prefer  my  own, 
as  more  literal  and  more  conformable  to  genuine  Greek  simplicity. 


THE  LAMENT  OF  DAX/E. 

By  Siv!07ndcSi  tfie  Elegiac  Poet  of  Cos. 
Ot£  XapvuKL  Bv  oaLoaXsa,  avBucs 

^ptfXt  TTl/EWV,    KlUlJ^'l.lCTa  T£   XlflVd 

AsifxaTi  i]pnriv,  ovo    aoiavToi(ri 
ITapEiats,  afx(pL  0£  TlBoasL  (3a\E 

^iXaV  X^P"'    H-TTEU  T£'       Q  T£\-0?, 

Olov  Exu)  irovov'  (TV  6'  atuTEis,  ya\aQ)]voti  t' 
Hropi  KVuxrrfEi^  ev  utepttei  ccofxarL, 
Xa-X/CEoyo/x^w  0£  vuKTiXa/uLTrsL 
K.uavEuy  T£  ouo(p(i)'  cru  o'  avaXEUU 
YTTepdE  TEau  KOfxav  (iadEiuv 
TiapiovTo<s  KVfxaTo^  ovk  aXtytt?, 
Ouo'  avEfxov  (pdoyywu,  Trop^vpscc 

K.ELflEVO'3   EV   ^XaVLOL,    TTpoaUiTTOV  KuXoV. 
Ei   0£   TOL   OELVOV  TOyE   OELVOV  7)1', 

Kcti  KEV  Efiiitu  pt)iJiaT(ov  Xetttov 

'YtTEJXES  Oliai'   KeXo/JLUL,   EVOE   (3pECf)0?, 
EuOETO  C£   TTOVTO^,   El/OETO   UflcTpOV  KCIKOV. 

HaTaiotovXia  oe  tis  cpavEii], 

ZsD  TTaxfo,  EK  CTEO'  6  Ti  o?j  OuptTaXacu 

EtTOS,   EV)(pfJinL  TEKVO(pl  OiKCS  fXOL. 

THE   LAMENT   OF  STELLA. 

By  FatJier  Front. 

While  round  the  chum,  'mid  sleet  and  rain. 
It  blew  a  perfect  hurricane, 
Wrapt  in  slight  garment  to  protect  her, 
IMethought  I  saw  my  mother's  spectre, 
\Mio  took  her  infant  to  her  breast — 
^le,  the  small  tenant  of  that  chest — 

*  We  never  employed  him.— Regixa.     'Twas  Caroline  of  Brunswick.^ 


32  TJic  Works  0^  Father  ProuL 


While  thus  she  lull'd  her  babe  :  "  How  crutl 
Have  been  the  Fates  to  thee,  my  jewel  ! 
But  caring  nought  for  foe  or  scoffer. 
Thou  sleepest  in  this  milky  coffer, 
Cooper'd  with  brass  hoops  weather-tight, 
Impervious  to  the  dim  moonlight. 
The  shower  cannot  get  in  to  soak 
Thy  hair  or  little  purple  cloak  ; 
Heedless  of  gloom,  in  dark  sojourn, 
Thy  face  illuminates  the  churn  ! 
Small  is  thine  ear,  wee  babe,  for  hearing. 
But  grant  my  prayer,  ye  gods  of  Erin  I 
And  may  folks  find  that  this  young  fellow- 
Does  credit  to  his  mother  Stella." 


I 


83 


V. 


£Ije  llcgutrics  nf  Com  ||To0n» 

[Frasers  Magazine,  August,   1834.) 


[In  several  respects  this  paper  must  be  regarded  as  the  most  remarkable  of  all  the 
Reliques.  For  one  thing,  it  gave  to  the  world  towards  its  conclusion  the  most  delicious 
copy  of  verses  ever  penned  by  Mahony— his  exquisite  poem  of  '"  The  Bells  of  Shandon." 
It  illustrated,  besides,  in  a  more  marvellous  way  than  ever,  his  capacity,  whenever  he 
so  pleased,  to  deal  with  his  scholarship  as  freely  as  a  juggler  does  with  the  golden  balls 
and  daggers  which  he  sets  at  any  moment,  ad  libituvi,  in  bewildering  g>Tation.  The 
"Melody  to  the  Beautiful  Milkmaid"  thus  reappeared  Latinized  in  his  magic  as  "Lesbia 
Semper  hinc  et  inde,"  "The  Shamrock"  in  its  Gallic  reflection,  and  "Wreathe  the 
Bowl"  in  Greek  anacreontics  as  STei^w/xei/  ovv  tcvTrekkov.  I'he  Literary  Portrait 
contained  in  the  number  of  Regina  to  which  these  and  other  similar  Rogueries 
were  contributed  was  that  of  Thomas  Hill,  who— though,  judging  from  his  likeness,  he 
certainly  looked  not  in  the  least  like  it— was  author  of  the  "  Mirror  of  Fashion."  Two  of 
Maclise's  happiest  embellishments  adorned  this  paper  in  the  original  edition  of  1836,  one 
of  them  revealing  Moore  in  the  sanctum  at  Watergrasshill  listening,  chin  on  fist,  to 
Father  Prout  carolling  one  of  his  Rogueries  :  while  the  other  delineates,  starkly  under 
its  winding-sheet,  the  dead  body  of  Henry  O'Brien,  author  of  "  The  Round  Towers_  of 
Ireland,"  a  patriotic  archaeologist,  but  verj-  recently  deceased  before  the  first  publication 
of  this  paper  in  the  magazine.  Yet  another  of  Croquis'  sketches  associated  with  this 
instalment  of  the  Reliques  prettily  portrayed  L.  E.  L.  — otherwise  Letitia  Elizabeth 
Landon— in  the  then  fashionable  attire  of  a  cottage  bonnet  and  preposterous  gigot 
sleeves,  standing  in  front  of  a  trellised  bower,  like  the  lady  who  sat  in  Thackeray's  cane- 
bottomed  chair,  "  with  a  smile  on  her  face  and  a  rose  in  her  hair  I "] 


"  Grata  carpendo  th>-ma  per  laborem 
Plurimum,  circa  nemus*  uvidique 
Tiburis  ripas,  operosa  parvus 
Carmina  fingo." 

Qlintus  Horatics  Flaccus. 

"  By  taking  time,  and  some  advice  from  Prout, 
A  polish'd  book  of  songs  I  hammer'd  out  ; 
But  still  my  Muse,  for  she  the  fact  confesses. 
Haunts  that  sweet  hill,  renown'd  for  water-cresses." 

Thomas  L.  Mooke. 

When-  the  star  of  Father  Prcut  (a  genuine  son  of  the  accomplished  Stella, 
and  in  himself  the  most  eccentric  luminar>'  that  has  of  late  adorned  our  plane- 
tary svstem)  first  rose  in  the  firmament  of  literature,  it  desen-edly  attracted  the 
gaze  of  the  learned,  and  riveted  the  eye  of  the  sage.  We  know  not  what  may- 
have  been  the  sensation  its  appearance  created  in  foreign  countries, — at  the 
ObseiTatoire  Royal  of  Paris,  in  the  Val  d'Arno,  or  at  Fesole,  where,  in  Milton  s 

*  ue.,  Blameum  nemus. 


time,  the  sons  of  Galileo  plied  the  untiring  telescope  to  descry  new  heavenly 
phenomena,  "rivers  or  mountains  in  the  shadowy  moon  " — but  we  can  vouch 
for  the  impression  made  on  the  London  University;  for  all  ^tinkomalee  hath 
been  perplexed  at  the  apparition.  1  he  learned  Chaldeans  of  Gower  Street 
opine  that  it  forbodes  nothin£j  good  to  the  cause  of  "  useful  knowledge,"  and 
they  watch  the  "  transit "  of  I'rout,  devoutly  wishing  for  his  "exit."  With 
throbbing  anxiety,  night  after  night  has  Dr.  Lardner  gazed  on  the  sinister 
planet,  seeking,  with  the  aid  of  Dr.  Babbage's^alculating  machine,  to  ascer- 
tain the  probable  period  of  its  final  eclipse,  and  often  muttering  its  name,  "  to 
tell  how  he  hates  its  beams."  He  has  seen  it  last  April  shining  conspicuously 
in  the  constellation  of  Pisces,  when  he  duly  conned  over  the  "  Apology  for 
Lent,"  and  the  Doctor  has  reported  to  the  University  Board,  that,  "  advancing 
with  retrograde  movement  in  the  zodiac,"  this  disastrous  orb  was  last  perceived 
in  the  milky  Tvay,  entering  the  sign  of  "  Amphora,"  or  "the  churn."  But 
what  do  the  public  care,  while  the  general  eye  is  delighted  by  its  irradiance, 
that  a  few  owls  and  dunces  are  scared  by  its  effulgency?  The  Georgium  Sidus,  the 
Astrium  Julium,  the  Soleil  d'Austerlitz,  the  Star  at  Vauxhall,  the  Xose  of  Lord 
Chancellor  Vaux,*  and  the  grand  Roman  Girandola  shot  off  from  the  mole  of 
Adrian,  to  the  annual  delight  of  modern  "Quirites,"  are  all  fine  things  and 
rubicund  in  their  generation  ;  but  nothing  to  the  star  of  Watergrasshill.  Xor 
is  astronomical  science  or  pyrotechnics  the  only  department  of  philosophy  that 
has  been  influenced  by  this  extraordinary  meteor — the  kindred  study  of 
GASTRonomy  has  derived  the  hint  of  a  new  combination  from  its  inspiring 
ray;  and,  after  a  rapid  perusal  of  "  Prout's  Apology  for  Fish,"  the  celebrated 
Monsieur  Ude,  whom  Croquis  has  so  exquisitely  delineated  in  the  gallery  of 
Regixa,  has  invented  on  the  spot  an  original  sauce,  a  novel  ohsonium,  more 
especially  adapted  to  cod  and  turbot,  to  which  he  has  given  the  reverend 
father's  name  ;  so  that  Sir  William  Curtis  will  be  found  eating  his  "  turbot  a  la 
Prout  "  as  constantly  as  his  "  cotelette  a  la  Maintenon."  The  fascinating  Miss 
Landon  has  had  her  fair  name  affi.xed  to  a  frozen  lake  in  the  map  of  Captain 
Ross's  discoveries ;  and  if  Prout  be  not  equally  fortunate  in  winning  terraqueous 
renown  with  his  pen  ("  Xititur  penna  vitreo  daturus  nomina  ponto  "),  he  will 
at  least  figure  on  the  "carte"  at  Verey's,  opposite  our  neighbour. 

"Who  can  tell  what  posthumous  destinies  await  the  late  incumbent  of  Water- 
grasshill ?  In  truth,  his  celebrity  (to  use  an  expression  of  Edmund  Burke)  is  as 
yet  but  a  "speck  in  the  horizon — a  small  seminal  principle,  rather  than  a 
formed  body;"  and  when,  in  the  disemboguing  of  the  chest,  in  the  evolving 
of  his  MSS.,  he  shall  be  unfolded  to  the  view  in  all  his  dimensions,  developing 
his  proportions  in  a  gorgeous  shape  of  matchless  originality  and  grandeur,  then 
will  be  the  hour  for  the  admirers  of  the  beautiful  and  the  votaries  of  the  sub- 
lime to  hail  him  with  becoming  veneration,  and  welcome  hint  with  the  sound 
of  the  cornet,  flute,  harp,  sackbut,  psaltery,  and  dulcimer,  and  all  kinds  of 
music  — (Dan.  viii.  15.) 

"  Then  shall  the  reign  of  mind  commence  on  earth, 
And,  starting  fresh,  as  from  a  second  birth, 

*  The  following  song  was  a  favourite  with  the  celebrated  Chancellor  d'Aguesseaii.  It 
is  occasionally  sung,  in  our  own  times,  by  a  modern  performer  on  the  woolsack,  in  the 
intervals  of  business  : 

"  Sitot  que  la  lumifere 
Redore  nos  coteaux, 
Je  commence  ma  carribre 
Par  visiter  mes  tonneaux. 

Ravi  de  rcvoir  I'aurore, 

Le  verrc  en  main,  je  iui  dis, 
I'ois-tn  done />i us,  c/tcz  Ic  Maurr, 

Que  sur  inon  ncz,  dc  rubis  !  " 


The  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore,  85 

Man,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  world's  new  spring. 
Shall  walk  transparent,  like  some  holy  thing  I  I  ! 
Then,  too,  your  prophet  from  his  angel-brow 
Shall  cast  the  veil  that  hides  its  splendour  now. 
And  gladden  d  earth  shall,  through  her  wide  expanse. 
Bask  in  the  glories  of  his  countenance  !  " 

The  title  of  this  second  paper  taken  from  the  Prout  Collection  is  enough  to 
indicate  that  we  are  only  firing  off  the  small  arms — the  pop-guns  of  this 
stupendous  arsenal,  and  that  we  reserve  the  heavy  metal  for  a  grander  occasion, 
w  hen  the  Wliig  ministry  and  the  dog-days  shall  be  over,  and  a  meny^  autumn 
and  a  WeUington  administration  shall  mellow  our  October  cups.  To  talk  of 
Tom  Moore  is  but  small  talk — "in  tenui  labor,  at  tenuis  non  gloria;"  for 
Front's  great  art  is  to  magnify  what  is  httle,  and  to  tling  a  dash  of  the  subUme 
into  a  twopenny-post  communication.  To  use  Tommy's  own  phraseology, 
Prout  could,  with  great  ease  and  comfort  to  himself, 

"  Teach  an  old  cow  pater-noster. 
And  whistle  Moll  Roe  to  a  pig." 

But  we  have  another  reason  for  selecting  this  "  Essay  on  Moore  "  from  the 
papers  of  the  deceased  divine.  \\&  have  seen  with  regret  an  eftbrt  made  to 
crush  and  annihilate  the  young  author  of  a  book  on  the  "  Round  Towers  of 
Ireland,"  with  whom  we  are  not  personally  acquainted,  but  whose  production 
gave  earnest  of  an  ardent  mind  bent  on  abstruse  and  recondite  studies ;  and 
who,  leaving  the  frivolous  boudoir  and  the  drawing-room  coterie  to  lisp  their 
ballads  and  retail  their  Epicurean  gossip  unmolested,  trod  alone  the  craggy 
steeps  of  venturous  discovery  in  the  regions  of  Oriental  learning;  whence, 
returning  to  the  isle  of  the  west,  the  "  iKan  of  the  fire-wcrshipper,"  he  trimmed 
his  lamp,  well  fed  with  the  fragrant  oil  of  these  sunny  lands,  and  penned  a  work 
w  hich  will  one  day  rank  among  the  most  extraordinary  of  modern  times.  The 
Edinburgh  Rcvieti<  attempted,  long  ago,  to  stifle  the  unfledged  muse  of  Byron; 
these  truculent  northerns  would  gladly  have  bruised  in  the  very  shell  the  young 
eagle  that  afterwards  tore  with  his  lordly  talons  both  Jeffery  and  his  colleague 
Moore  (of  the  leadless  pistol),  who  were  glad  to  wax  subsersient  slaves,  after 
being  impotent  bullies.  The  same  review  undertook  to  crv-  down  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge;  they  shouted  their  vulgar  "  crucifigatur  '  against  Robert 
Southey  ;  and  seemed  to  have  adopted  the  motto  of  the  French  club  of 
witlings, 

'■'  Xul  n'aura  de  I'esprit  que  nov.s  et  nos  amis." 

But  in  the  present  case  they  will  find  themselves  equally  impotent  for  evil  : 
O'Brien  may  defy  them.  He  may  defy  his  own  al7?ia  j?!ater,  the  silent  and 
unproductive  Trin.  Coll.  Dub.  ;  he  may  defy  the  Royal  Irish  Academy,  a 
learned  assembly,  which,  alas  !  has  neither  a  body  to  be  kicked,  nor  a  soiil  to 
be  damned  ;  and  may  rest  secure  of  the  applause  which  sterling  merit  challenges 
from  every  freeborn  inhabitant  of  these  islands, — 

"  Save  where,  from  yonder  i\'^--mantled  tower, 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  those  who,  venturing  near  her  silent  bower. 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign." 

Moore — (we  beg  his  pardon)— the  reviewer,  asserts  that  O'Brien  is  a  plagiary, 
and  pilferred  his  discovery  from  "  Ximrod."  Xow  we  venture  to  ofter  a  copy 
of  the  commentaries  of  Cornelius  a  Lapide  (which  we  find  in  Prout's  chest) 
to  Tom,  if  he  will  show  us  a  single  passage  in  "  Ximrod  "  (which  we  are  con- 
fident he  never  read)  warranting  his  assertion.  But,  apropos  of  plagiarisms  ; 
let  us  hear  the  prophet  of  \\'atergrasshill,  who  enters  largely  on  the  subject. 

OLIVER   YORKE. 
Regent  Street.,  ist  Aiig-iist,  1834. 


86  The   Works  of  FatJicr  Front. 


Watergrasshill,  Feb.  1834. 

That  notorious  tinker,  William  Woods,  who,  as  I  have  recorded  among  the 
papers  in  my  coffer  somewhere,  to  spite  my  illustrious  father,  kidnapped  me  in 
my  childliood,  little  dreamt  that  the  infont  Prout  would  one  day  emerge  from 
the  Royal  Cork  Foundling  Hospital  as  safe  and  unscathed  as  the  children  from 
Nebuchadnezzar's  furnace,  to  hold  up  his  villany  to  the  execration  of  man- 
kind : 

"  Non  sine  Dis  animosus  infans  !  " 

Among  the  Romans,  whoever  stole  a  child  was  liable  by  law  to  get  a  sound 
flogging  ;  and  as  plaga  in  Latin  means  a  stripe  or  lash,  kidnappers  in  Cicero's 
time  were  called  plagiarii,  or  cat-d -ninc-tail-villalns.  I  approve  highly  of 
this  law  of  the  twelve  tables  ;  but  perhaps  my  judgment  is  biassed,  and  I  should 
be  an  unfair  juror  to  give  a  verdict  in  a  case  which  comes  home  to  my  own 
feelings  so  poignantly.  The  term  plagiary  has  since  been  applied  meta- 
phorically to  literary  shop-lifters  and  book-robbers,  who  stuff,  their  pages  with 
other  men's  goods,  and  thrive  on  indiscriminate  pillage.  This  is  justly  con- 
sidered a  high  misdemeanour  in  the  republic  of  letters,  and  the  lash  of  criti- 
cism is  unsparingly  dealt  on  pickpockets  of  this  description.  Among  the 
Latins,  Martial  is  the  only  classic  author  by  whom  the  iexmj)lagiarius  is  used 
in  the  metaphorical  sense,  as  applied  to  literature  ;  but  surely  it  was  not  because 
the  practice  only  began  in  his  time  that  the  word  had  not  been  used  even  in  the 
Augustan  age  of  Rome.  Be  that  as  it  may,  we  first  find  the  term  in  Martial's 
Epigrams  (lib.  i.  epigr.  53)  :  talking  of  his  verses,  he  says, 

"  Dicas  esse  meos,  manuque  missos  : 
Hoc  si  terque  quaterque  clamitfiris, 
Impones//^?^/rt?7'£>  pudorem." 

Cicero  himself  was  accused  by  the  Greeks  of  pilfering  whole  passages,  for  his 
philosophical  works,  from  the  scrolls  of  Athens,  and  cooking  up  the  fragments 
and  broken  meat  of  Greek  orations  to  feed  the  hungry  barbarians  of  the  Roman 
forum.  My  authority  is  that  excellent  critic  St.  Jerome,  who,  in  the  ' '  Proemiuni 
in  qu.  Heb.  lib.  Genesis,"  distinctly  says,  "Cicero  repetundarum  accusatur  a 
Grcecis,"  Sec,  &c. ;  and  in  the  same  passage  he  adds,  that  Virgil  being  accused 
of  taking  whole  similes  from  Homer,  gloried  in  the  theft,  exclaiming,  "Think 
ye  it  nothing  to  wrest  his  club  from  Hercules?"  (//.  ibidem.)  Vide  S"'  Hier- 
onymi  Opera,  torn.  iv.  fol.  90.  But  what  shall  we  say  when  we  find  Jerome 
accusing  another  holv  father  of  plagiarism  ?  Verily  the  temptation  must  have 
been  very  great  to  have  shaken  the  probity  of  St.  Ambrose,  when  he  pillaged 
his  learned  brother  in  the  faith,  Origen  of  Alexandria,  by  wholesale.  "  Nuper 
Sanctus  Ambrosius  Hexaemeron  illms  compilavit  "  (S'"  Hieronymi  Opera,  torn, 
iii.  fol.  87,  in  epistol>\  ad  Famniach).  It  is  well  known  that  Menander  and 
Aristophanes  were  mercilessly  pillaged  by  Terence  and  Plautus  ;  and  the  Latin 
freebooters  thought  nothing  of  stopping  the  Thespian  tuaggon  on  the  highways 
of  Parnassus.  The  French  dramatists  are  similarly  waylaid  by  our  scouts  from 
the  green-room,— and  the  plunder  is  awful!  What  is  Talleyrand  about,  that 
he  cannot  protect  the  property  of  the  French  ?  Perhaps  he  is  better  employed? 
I  am  an  old  man,  and  have  read  a  great  deal  in  my  time— being  of  a  quiet 
disposition,  and  liaving  always  had  a  taste  for  books,  whicli  I  consider  a  great 
blessing  ;  but  latterly  I  find  that  I  may  dispense  with  further  perusal  of  printed 
volumes,  as,  unfortunately,  memory  serves  me  but  too  well ;  and  all  I  read  now 
strikes  me  as  but  a  new  version  of  wliat  I  had  read  somewhere  before.  Plagi- 
arism is  so  barefaced  and  so  universal,  that  I  can  stand  it  no  longer  :  I  have 
shut  up  shop,  and  will  be  taken  in  no  more.  Qua:rc  peregrin  inn  f  clamo. 
I'm  sick  pf  hashed-up  works,  and  loatlie  the  baked  meats  of  antiquity  served  in 
a  fricassee.     Give  me  a  solid  joint,   in  which  no  knife  has  been  ever  fieshed, 


The  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore.  8y 

and  I  will  share  your  intellectual  banquet  most  %\illingly,  were  it  but  a  moun- 
tain kid,  or  a  limb  of  Welsh  mutton.  Alas  !  whither  shall  I  turn?  Let  me 
open  the  reviews,  and  lo  !  the  critics  are  but  repeatmg  old  criticisms ;  let  me 
fly  to  the  poets,  'tis  but  the  old  lyre  with  catgut  strings  ;  let  me  hear  the  orators, 
—"that's  my  thunder  !  "  says  the  ghost  of  Sheridan  or  the  spectre  of  Burke; 
let  me  hsten'to  the  sayers  of  good  things,  and  alas  for  the  injured  shade  of  Joe 
Miller  I  I  could  go  through  the  whole  range  of  modern  authors  (save  Scott, 
and  a  few  of  that  kidney),  and  exclaim,  with  more  truth  than  the  chieftain  of 
the  crusaders  in  Tasso — 

"  Di  chi  di  voi  non  so  la  patria  e  '1  seme  ? 
Qual  spada  m'  e  ignota  ?  e  qual  saetta, 
Benche  per  1'  aria  ancor  sospesa  treme, 
Non  saprei  dir  s'  e  Franca,  o  s'  e  d'Irlanda, 
E  quale  appunto  il  braccio  e  che  la  manda ''. " 

Gerusal.  Liber,  canto  xx.  st.  i8. 

To  state  the  simple  truth,  such  as  I  feel  it  in  my  own  conviction,  I  declare 
that  the  whole  mass  of  contemporary  scribblement  might  be  bound  up  in  one 
tremendous  volume,  and  entitled  "Elegant  Extracts;  "  for,  if  you  except  the 
form  and  style,  the  varnish  and  colour,  all  the  rest  is  what  I  have  known  in  a 
different  shape  forty  years  ago  ;  and  there  is  more  philosophy  than  meets  the 
vulgar  eye  in  that  excellent  song  on  the  transmutation  of  things  here  below, 
which  perpetually  offer  the  same  intrinsic  substance,  albeit  under  a  different 

name  ; 

"  Dear  Tom,  this  brown  jug,  which  now  foams  with  mild  ale. 
Was  once  Toby  Philpot,  a  merrj'  old  soul,"  <ic.,  &c. 

This  transmigration  of  intellect,  this  metempsychosis  of  literature,  goes  on 
'  silently  reproducing  and  reconstructing  what  had  gone  to  pieces.  But  those 
'  whose'memory,  like  mine,  is  unfortunately  over-tenacious  of  its  young  impres- 
i  sions,  cannot  enjoy  the  zest  of  a  twice-told  tale,  and  consequently  are  greatly 
i    to  be  pitied. 

It  has  lately  come  out  that  "  Childe  Harolde  "  (like  other  naughty  children 

!   whom  we  daily  read  of  as  terminating  their  "  life  in  London  "  by  being  sent 

;   to  the  "Eur\'alu5  hulk,  ")  was  given  to  picking  pockets.     Mr.    Beckford,  the 

!   author  of  "Vathek,"  and  the  builder  of  Fonthill  Abbey,  has  been  a  serious 

I   sufferer  by  the  Childe's  depredations,   and  is  now  determined  to  pubhsh  his 

\   case  in  the  shape  of  "Travel,  in  1787,  through  Portugal,  up  the  Rhine,  and 

•   through   Italy;  "  and  it  also  appears  that  Saml.   Rogers,  in  his  "Italy,"  has 

;   learned  a  thing  or  two  from  the  "  Bandits  of  Terracina,"  and  has  defalisi  Mr. 

;   Beckford  aforesaid  on  more  than  one  occasion  in  the  Apennines.     I  am  not 

I   surprised  at  all  this  :  murder  will  out  ;  and  a  stolen  dog  will  naturally  nose  out 

\  his  original  and  primitive  master  among  a  thousand  on  a  race-course. 

j       These  matters  may  be  sometimes  exaggerated,  and  (honour  bright  I)  far  be  it 

[  from  me  to  pull  the  stool  from  under  ever)'  poor  devil  that  sits  down  to  write  a 

book,  and  sweep  away,  with  unsparing  besom,  all  the  cobwebs  so  industriously 

woven  across  Paternoster  Row.     I  don't  wish  to  imitate  Father  Hardouin,  the 

celebrated  Jesuit,  who  gained  great  renown  among  the  wits  of  Louis  XlVth's 

■   time  by  his  paradoxes.     A  favourite  maggot  hatched  in  his  prohfic  brain  was, 

that  the  Odes  of  Horace  never  were  written  by  the  friend  of  Mec^nas,  but 

!  were  an  imposture  of  some  old  Benedictine  monk  of  the  twelfth  centur\-,  who, 

'  to  amuse  his  cloistered  leisure,  personated  Flaccus,  and  under  his  name  strung 

\  together  those  lyrical  effusions.     This  is  maintained  in  a  large  folio,  printed 

f  at  Amsterdam  in  1733,  viz.,  "  Harduini  Opera  Varia,  \|^6u5o-Horatius."    One  of 

^  his  arguments  is  drawn  from  the  Christian  allusions  which,  he  asserts,  occur 

so  frequently  in  these  Odes  :  ex. gratia,  the  "praise  of  celibacy ;  " 


(i 


88  The    Works  of  Father  Front. 


"  Platanusque  coelebs 
Evincit  ulmos  ; " 

Lib.  ii.  ode  15. 

for  the  elm-tree  used  to  be  married  to  the  vine;  not  so  the  sycamore,  as  any 
one  who  has  been  in  Italy  must  know.  The  rebuilding  of  the  temple  by  Juhan 
the  Apostate  is,  according  to  the  Jesuit,  thus  denounced  : 

"  Sed  bellicosis  fata  Quiritibus 
Hac  lege  dico,  ne  nimium  pii, 
Tecta  velint  reparare  Trojse." 

Lib.  iii.  ode  3. 

Again,  the  sacred  mysteries  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  the  concealed  naXure 
of  the  bread  that  was  broken  among  the  primitive  Christians  : 

"  Vetabo,  qui  Cereris  sacru}n 

Vulgarit  arcana,  sub  iisdem 
Sit  trabibus,  fragilemve  mecum 

Solvat  phaselum  "  {i.e.,  the  bark  of  Peter). 
Lib.  iii.  ode  2. 

And  the  patriarch  Joseph,  quoth  Hardouin,  is  clearly  pointed  out  under  the 
strange  and  un-Roman    name   of  Proculeius,  of  whom  Pagan  history  says 

naught : 

"  Vivet  extento  Proculeius  aevo, 
Notus  iiifratres  atiinii paterni  I  " 

Lib.  ii.  ode  2. 

For  the  rest  of  Hardouin's  discoveries  I  must  refer  to  the  work  itself,  as  quoted 
above;  and  I  must  in  fairness  add,  that  his  other  literary  efforts  and  deep 
erudition  reflect  the  highest  credit  on  the  celebrated  order  to  which  he  belonged 
—the  Jesuits,  and  I  may  add,  the  Benedictines  being  as  distinct  and  as  superior 
bodies  of  monastic  men  to  the  remaining  tribes  of  cowled  coenobites  as  the 
Brahmins  in  India  are  to  the  begging  Farias.* 

There  is  among  the  Uric  poems  of  the  lower  Irish  a  very  remarkable  ode, 
the  authorship  of  which  has  been  ascribed  to  the  very  Rev.  Robert  Burrowes, 
the  mild,  tolerant,  and  exemplary  Dean  of  St.  Finbarrs  Cathedral,  Cork,  whom 
I  am  proud  to  call  my  friend  :  it  refers  to  the  last  tragic  scene  in  the  comic  or 
melodramatic  life  of  a  Dublin  gentleman,  whom  the  above-mentioned  excellent 
divine  accompanied  in  his  ministerial  capacity  to  the  gallows ;  and  nothing 
half  so  characteristic  of  the  genuine  Irish  recklessness  of  death  was  ever  penned 
by  any  national  Labruyere  as  that  incomparable  elegy,  beginning — 

"The  night  before  Larry  was  stretched. 
The  boys  they  all  paid  him  a  visit,"  Sec. 

Now,  were  not  this  fact  of  the  clerical  authorship  of  a  most  sublime  Pindaric 
composition  chronicled  in  these  papers,  some  future  Hardouin  would  arise  to 
unsettle  the  belief  of  posterity,  and  the  claim  of  my  friend  Dean  Burrowes 
would  be  overlooked ;  while  the  songster  of  Turpin  the  highwayman,  the  illus- 

*  Father  Hardouin,  who  died  at  Paris  3rd  Sept.,  1729,  was  one  of  the  many  high  orna- 
ments of  the  society  and  of  the  century  to  which  he  belonged.  His  "  Collection  of  the 
Councils"  ranks  among  the  most  elaborate  efforts  of  theological  toil,  '"  Concil.  Collect. 
Regia,"  15  vols,  folio,  Paris,  17 15.  The  best  edition  e.vtant  of  the  naturalist  Pliny  is  his 
(in  usitm  DelJ>hini),  ?Lnd  displays  a  wondrous  range  of  reading.  He  was  one  of  the 
witty  and  honest  crew  of  Jesuits  who  conducted  that  model  of  periodical  criticism,  t.i- 
Journal  de  Trivoux.     IJishop  Atterbury  of  Rochester  has  written  his  epitaph  : 

Hie  jacet  Petrus  Harduinvs, 
Hominum  jjaradoxotatos,  vir  summa;  vteinoria-, 

Judicinin  e.xpectans."  Pkout. 


Tlie  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore.  89 

trious  author  of  "  Rookwood,"*  would  infallibly  be  set  down  as  the  writer  of 
"  Larry's"  last  hornpipe.  But  let  me  remark,  en  passatit,  that  in  that  interest- 
ing department  of  literature  "slang  songs,"  Ireland  enjoys  a  proud  and  lofty 
pre-eminence  over  every  European  country  :  her  musa  pedestris,  or  ''footpad 
poetry,"  being  unrivalled;  and,  as  it  is  observed  by  Tacitus  (in  his  admirable 
work  "  De  Moribus  Germanorum  ")  of  the  barbarians  on  the  Rhine — the  native 
Irish  find  an  impulse  for  valorous  deeds,  and  a  comfort  for  all  their  tribulations, 
in  a  song.  ^ 

Many  folks  like  to  write  anonymously,  others  posthumously,  others  imder  an 
assumed  name ;  and  for  each  of  these  methods  of  conveying  thought  to  our 
fellow-men  there  may  be  assigned  sundry  solid  reasons.  But  a  man  should 
never  be  ashamed  to  avow  his  writings,  if  called  on  by  an  injured  party,  and  I, 
for  one,  will  never  shrink  from  that  avowal.  If,  as  my  friend  O'Brien  of  the 
Round  Towers  tells  me,  Tom  Moore  tried  to  run  him  down  in  the  Edi?iburgh 
Review,  after*iolding  an  unsuccessful  negotiation  with  him  for  his  services  in 
compiling  a  joint-stock  history  of  Ireland,  why  did  not  the  man  of  the  paper 
bullet  fire  a  fair  shot  in  his  ow  n  name,  and  court  the  pubhcity  of  a  dirty  job, 
which  done  in  the  dark  can  lose  nothing  of  its  infamy  ?  Dr.  Johnson  tells  us 
that  Bolingbroke  wrote  in  his  old  age  a  work  against  Christianity,  which  he 
hadn't  the  courage  to  avow  or  publish  in  his  lifetime  ;  but  left  a  sum  of  money 
in  his  will  to  a  hungry  Scotchman,  Mallet,  on  condition  of  printing  in  his  own 
name  this  precious  production.  "He  loaded  the  pistol,"  says  the  pious  and 
leafned  lexicographer,  "but  made  Sawney  pull  the  trigger."  Such  appear  to 
be  the  tactics  of  Tommy  in  the  present  instance  :  but  I  trust  the  attempt  will 
fail,  and  that  this  insidious  missile  darted  against  the  towers  of  O'Brien  will 
prove  a  "  telum  imbelle,  sine  ictu." 

The  two  most  original  writers  of  the  day,  and  also  the  two  most  ill-treated  by 
the  press,  are  decidedly  Miss  Harriet  Martineau  and  Henry  O'Brien.  Of  Miss 
Martineau  I  shall  say  little,  as  she  can  defend  herself  agamst  all  her  foes,  and 
give  them  an  effectual  check  when  hard-pressed  in  literary  encounters.  Her 
fame  can  be  comprised  in  one  brief  pentameter,  which  I  would  recommend  as 
a  motto  for  the  title-page  of  all  her  treatises  : 

"  Foemina  tractavit  '  propna  quae  maribus.'  " 

'  -.t  over  Henry  O'Brien,  as  he  is  young  and  artless,  I  must  throw  the  shield  of 
■  fostering  protection.     It  is  now  some  time  since  he  called  at  Watergrass- 

niil ;  it  was  in  the  summer  after  I  had  a  visit  from  Sir  \\'alter  Scott.  The 
i  young  man  was  then  well  versed  in  the  Oriental  languages  and  the  Celtic  :  he 
'  had  read  the  "Coran"  and  the  "Psalter  of  Cashil,"  the  "Zendavesta"  and 
f  the  "  Ogygia,"  Lalla  Rookh  "  and  "Rock's  Memoirs,"  besides  other  books 
k   that  treat  of  Phoenician  antiquities.     From  these  authentic  sources  of  Irish 

and  Hindoo  mythologv^  he  had  derived  much  internal  comfort  and  spiritual 
I  consolation ;  at  the  same  time  that  he  had  picked  up  a  rude  (and  perhaps  a 
!  crude)  notion  that  the  Persians  and  the  boys  of  Tipperarj'  were  first  cousins 
I  after  all.  This  might  seem  a  startling  theory  at  first  sight;  but  then  the  story 
',  of  the  fire-worshippers  in  Arabia  so  corresponded  with  the  exploits  of  General 
!  Decimus  Rock  in  Mononia,  and  the  camel-driver  of  Mecca  was  so  forcibly 
j  associated  in  his  mind  with  the  bog-trotter  of  Derr\-nane,  both  having  deluded 
i  an  untutored  tribe  of  savages,  and  \\\q  flight  of  the  one  being  as  celebrated  as 
I   the  vicarious  i7nprisoninc>it  of  the  other,    he  was  sure  he  should  find  some 

grand  feature  of  this  striking  consanguinity,  some  landmark  indicative  of  former 

relationship  : 

_  *  Prout  must  have  enjoyed  the  gift  of  prophecy,  for  "  Rookwood  "  was  not  published 
till  four  months  after  his  death  at  Watergrasshill.  Perhaps  Mr.  Ainsworth  subrnitted  his 
embrjo  romance  to  the  priest's  inspection  when  ke  went  to  kiss  the  stone. — O.  Y. 

F 


Journeying  with  that  intent,  he  ej'ed  these  Towers  ; 
And,  Heaven-directed,  came  this  way  to  find 
The  noble  truth  that  gilds  his  humble  name. 

Being  a  tolerable  Greek  scholar  (for  he  is  a  Ken^Tnan),  with  Lucian,  of 
course,  at  his  fingers'  ends,  he  probably  bethought  himself  of  the  two  great 
phallic  towers  which  that  author  describes  as  having  been  long  ago  erected  in 
the  countries  of  the  East  ("  ante  Syriiis  Deae  templum  siaxe.  ph.illos  duos  mirai 
altitudinis  ;  sacerdotem  per  funes  ascendere,  ibi  orare,  sacra  fafiere,  tinnitumque 
ciere,"  <S:c.,  tSrc);  a  ray  of  light  darted  through  the  diaphanous  casement  of 
O'Brien's  brain — 'twas  a  vciOS'ieu}-''kIsh  moment, — 'twas  a  coup  de  soldi,  a  mani- 
festation of  the  spirit — 'twas  a  d iv i no:  parti cula  aura:, — 'twas  what  a  French- 
man would  C3\\  f  hcure  du  bcrgcr  ;  and  on  the  spot  the  whole  theor}' of  "Round 
Towers"  was  developed  in  his  mind.  The  dormant  chrysalis  burst  into  ; 
butterfly.  And  this  is  the  bright  thing  of  surpassing  brilhancy  that  Tom  Moore 
would  extinguish  with  his  flimsy  foolscap  pages  of  the  Edinburgh  Rcvir.iK 

Forbid  it,  Heaven  !  Though  all  the  mercenary  or  time-serving  scribes  of 
the  periodical  press  should  combine  to  slander  and  burke  thee,  O'  B.  !  though ' 
all  the  world  betray  thee,  one  pen  at  least  thy  right  shall  guard,  and  vindicate 
thy  renown  :  here,  on  the  summit  of  a  bleak  Irish  hill — here,  to  the  child  c' 
genius  and  enthusiasm  my  door  is  still  open  ;  and  though  the  support  which  I 
can  give  thee  is  but  a  scanty  portion  of  patronage  indeed,  I  give  it  with  good 
will,  and  assuredly  with  good  humour.  O'Brien!  historian  of  round  towers, 
has  sorrow  thy  young  days  faded  ? 

Does  Moore  with  his  cold  win?  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear? 
Then,  child  of  misfortune,  come  hither — 

I'll  weep  with  thee  tear  for  tear. 

When  O'Brien  consulted  me  as  to  his  future  plans  and  prospects,  and  the 
development  of  his  theory,  in  the  first  instance  confidenti.iUy  to  Tom  Moore,  I 
remember  distinctly  that  in  the  course  of  our  conversation  (over  a  red  herring), 
I  cautioned  the  young  and  ferv'ent  enthusiast  against  the  tricks  and  rogueries  of 
Tommy.  No  man  was  better  able  to  gi\-e  advice  on  this  subject — Moore  and  I 
having  had  many  mutual  transactions,  the  reciprocity  of  which  was  all  on  one 
side.  W'e  know  each  other  intus  ct  in  cute,  as  the  reader  of  this  posthumous 
paper  will  not  fail  to  learn  before  he  has  laid  down  the  document ;  and  if  the 
ballad-monger  comes  off  second  best,  I  can't  help  him.  I  warned  O'B.  against 
confiding  his  secret  to  the  man  of  melody,  or  else  he  would  surely  repent  of  his 
simplicity,  and  to  his  cost  find  himself  some  day  the  dupe  of  his  credulous 
reliance:  while  he  would  have  the  untoward  prospect  of  seeing  his  discovery 
swamped,  and  of  beholding,  through  the  medium  of  a  deep  and  overwhelming 
flood  of  treachery, 

"His  round  towers  of  other  days 
Beneath  the  waters  shining." 

For,  to  illustrate  by  a  practical  example  the  man's  way  of  doing  business,  I 
gave,  as  a  striking  instance,  his  "  Travels  in  Search  of  Religion."  Now,  since 
my  witty  fathers  celebrated  book  of  "  Gulliver's  Travels,"  I  ask.  was  there  ever 
a  more  clever,  or  in  every  way  so  well  got  up  a  performance  as  this  Irish  gentle- 
man's "steeple-chase?"  But  unfortunately  memory  supplies  me  with  the  FACT 
that  this  very  same  identical  Tommy,  who  in  that  work  quotes  the  "  F"athers" 
so  accurately,  and,  I  may  ndd  (without  going  into  polemics),  so  felicitously  and 
triumphantly,  has  written  the  most  abusive,  scurrilous,  and  profane  article  that 
ever  sullied  the  pages  of  the  Edinburgh  Rciurio, — the  whole  scope  of  which  is 
to  cry  down  the  Fathers,  and  to  turn  the  highest  and  mo^t  cherished  ornaments 
of  the  primitive  church  into  ridicule.     See  the  24th  volume  of  the  Edinburgh 


The  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore.  91 


Eeviezv,"  p.  65,  Xov.  1S14,  where  you  will  learn  with  amazement  that  the  most 
accomplished  Christian  writer  of  the  second  centur)"-,  that  most  eloquent  church- 
man, Africa's  glorious  son,  was  nothing  more  in  Tommy's  eye  than  the  "  harsh, 
muddy,  and  unintelligible  TertuUian  !  "  Further  on  you  will  hear  this  Anacre- 
ontic little  chap  talk  of  "the  pompous  rigidity  of  Chrysostom  ;"  and  soon 
after  you  are  equally  edified  by  hearing  him  descant  on  the  "antithetical  trifling 
of  Gregory  Xazianzene" — of  Gregory,  whose  elegant  mind  was  the  result  and 
the  index  of  pure  unsullied  \irtue,  ever  most  attractive  when  adorned  with  the 
graces  of  scholarship — Gregory,  the  friend  of  St.  Basil,  and  his  schoolfellov,- 
at  Athens,  where  those  two  vigorous  champions  of  Christianity  were  associated 
in  their  youthful  studies  with  that  Julian  who  was  afterwards  an  emperor,  ;i 
sophist,  and  an  apostate— a  disturber  of  oriental  provinces,  and  a  fellow  v.  ho 
perished  deservedly  by  the  javelin  of  some  young  patriot  admirer  of  round 
towers  in  Persia.  In  the  article  alluded  to,  this  incredulous  Thomas  goes  on  to 
say,  that  these  same  Fathers,  to  whom  he  afterwards  refers  his  Irish  gentleman 
in  the  catch-penny  travels,  are  totally  ''unfit  to  be  guides  either  in  faith  cr 
morals."  {it.  ib.)  The  prurient  rogue  dares  to  talk  of  their  "pagan,  imagi- 
nations /"  and,  having  turned  up  his  ascetic  nose  at  these  saintly  men,  because, 
forsooth,  they  appear  to  him  to  be  but  "  indifferent  Christians"  he  pronounces 
them  to  be  also  "elephants  in  battle,"  and,  chuckhng  over  this  old  simiie, 
concludes  with  a  complacent  smirk  quite  self- satisfactory.  O  for  the  proboscis 
t  of  the  royal  animal  in  the  Surrey  Menagerie,  to  give  this  poet's  carcase  a  sound 
'  drubbing  !  O  most  theological,  and  zoological,  and  supereminently  logical 
Tommy  !  'tis  you  that  are  fit  to  travel  in  search  of  religion  ! 

If  there  is  one  plain  truth  that  oozes  forth   from   the  feculent  heap  of  trash 
;  which  the  reviewer  accumulates  on  the  merits  of  the  Fathers,  it  is  the  conviction 

■  in  every  observant  mind,  drawn  from  the  simple  perusal  of  his  article,  that  he 
;  never  read  three  consecutive  pages  of  their  works  in  his  life.  No  one  that  ever 
;  did — no  one  who  had  banqueted  with  the  gorgeous  and  magnificent  Chrysostom, 

or  drained  the  true  Athenian  cup  of  Gregory  Xazianzene,    or  dwelt  with  the 

■  eloquent  and  feelingly  devout  Bernard  in  the  cloistered  shades  of  Clain-aux,  or 
;  mused  with  the  powerful,  rich,  and  scrutinizing  mind  of  Jerome  in  his  hermit- 
;  age  of  Palestine, — could  write  an  article  so  contemptible,  so  low,  so   little.     He 

states,  truly  with  characteristic  audacity,  that  he  has  mounted  to  the  most 
I  inaccessible  shelves  of  the  library  in  Trin.  Coll.  Dublin,  as  if  he  had  scaled  the 
..  "heights  of  Abraham,"  to  get  at  the  original  editions;  but  believe  him  not  : 
for  the  old  folios  would  have  become  instinct  with  life  at  the  approach  of  the 
^ dwarf — they  would  have  awakened  from  their  slumber  at  his  touch,  and, 
; tumbling  their  goodly  volumes  on  their  diminutive  assailant,  would  have  over- 
iwhelmed  him,  hke  Tarpeia,  on  the  very  threshold  of  his  sacrilegious  inva- 
fsion. 

Towards  my  young  friend  O'Brien  of  the  to7i'e?-s  he  acts  the  same  part, 
appearing  in  his  favourite  character — that  of  an  anonymous  reviewer,  a  veiled 
prophet  of  Khorassan.  Having  first  negotiated  by  letter  with  him  to  extract 
;his  brains,  and  make  use  of  him  for  his  meditated  "  History  of  Ireland"— (the 
correspondence  lies  before  me)— he  winds  up  the  confidential  intercourse  by  an 
rEdinburgh  volley  of  canister  shot,  "quite  in  a  friendly  way."  He  has  the 
ineffable  impudence  to  accuse  O'B.  of  plagiarism,  andtb  state  that  this  grand 
.md  unparalleled  discovery  had  been  previously  made  by  the  author  of  "  Xim,- 
;'od  ;"f  a  book  which  Tommy  read  not,  neither  did  he  care,  so  he  plucked  the 

*  The  book  r£T'zV7t'^^ by  Moore  is  entitled  "Select  Passages  from  the  Fathers,"  by 
Pugh  Boyd,  Esq.     Dublin,  1814. 

'.  t  "  Ximrod,"  hy  the  Hon.  Reginald  Herbert,  i  vol.  Svo.  London,  1826.  Priestley. 
A  work  of  uncommon  erudition  ;  but  the  leading  idea  of  which  is,  that  these  towers  were 
\ire-altars.     O'B.'s  theorj^  is  not  to  be  found  in  a7iy  page  of  it  having  the  remotest 


92  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 

laurel  from  the  brow  of  merit.  But  to  accuse  a  wTiter  of  plagiarism,  he  should 
be  himself  immaculate  ;  and  while  he  dwells  in  a  glass  house,  he  should  not 
throw  stones  at  a  man  in  a  tower. 

The  Bliirney  stone  in  my  neighbourhood  has  attracted  hither  many  an  illus- 
trious visitor ;'  but  none  has  been  so  assiduous  a  pilgrim  in  my  time  as  Tom 
Moore.  While  he  was  engaged  in  his  best  and  most  unexceptionable  work  on 
the  melodious  ballads  of  his  country,  he  came  regularly  every  summer,  and  did 
me  the  honour  to  share  my  humble  roof  repeatedly.  He  knows  well  how  often 
he  plagued  me  to  supply  him  with  original  songs  which  I  had  picked  up  in 
I->ance  among  the  merry  troubadours  and  carol-loving  inhabitants  of  that  once 
happy  land,  and  to  what  extent  he  has  transferred  these  foreign  inventions  into 
the  "  Irish  Melodies.  '  Like  the  robber  Cacus,  he  generally  dragged  the  plun- 
dered cattle  by  the  tail,  so  as  that,  moving  backwards  into  his  cavern  of  stolen 
goods,  the  foot-tracks  might  not  lead  to  detection.  Some  songs  he  would  turn 
upside  down,  by  a  figure  in  rhetoiic  called  'vTTipov  TrpoTspov  ;  others  he  would 
disguise  in  various  shapes  ;  but  he  would  still  worry  me  to  supply  him  with  the 
productions  of  the  Gallic  muse  ;  "  for,  d'ye  see,  old  Prout,"  the  rogue  would 
say, 

"  The  best  of  all  waj-s 
To  lengthen  our  /a^s, 
Is  to  steal  a  few  thoughts  from  the  French,  'my  dear.'  " 

Now  I  would  have  let  him  enjoy  unmolested  the  renown  which  these  "  Melo- 
dies" have  obtained  for  him  ;  but  his  last  treachery  to  my  round-tower  friend 
has  raised  my  bile,  and  I  shall  give  evidence  of  the  unsuspected  robberies. 

"  Abstractaeque  boves  abjuratseque  raplnae 
Coelo  ostendentur." 

It  would  be  easy  to  point  out  detached  fragments  and  stray  metaphors, 
which  he  has  scattered  here  and  there  in  such  gay  confusion  that  every  page 
has  within  its  limits  a  mass  of  felony  and  plagiarism  sufficient  to  hang  him. 
For  instance,  I  need  only  advert  to  his  "  Bard's  Legacy."  Even  on  his  dying 
bed  this  "dying  bard  "  cannot  help  indulging  his  evil  pranks;  for,  in 
bequeathing  his  "heart"  to  his  "  mistress  dear,"  and  recommending  her  to 
"borrow"  balmy  drops  of  port  wine  to  bathe  the  relic,  he  is  all  the  while 
robbing  old  Clement  Marot,  who  thus  disposes  of  his  remains  : 

"Quand  je  suis  mort,  je  veux  qu'on  m'entJire 
Dans  la  cave  oil  est  le  vin  ; 
Le  corps  sous  un  tonneau  de  Madere, 
Et  la  bouche  sous  le  robin." 

But  I  won't  strain  at  a  gnat,  when  I  can  caoture  a  camel— a  huge  dromedary 
laden  with  pilfered  soil  ;  for,  would  you  believe  it  if  you  had  never  learned  it 
from  Prout,  the  very  opening  and  foremost  song  of  the  collection, 

'■  Go  where  glory  waits  thee," 

is  but  a  literal  and  servile  translation  of  an  old  French  ditty,  which  is  nmong 
my  papers,  and  winch  I  believe  to  have  been  composed  by  that  beautiful  ami 
interesting  "ladye,"  Franqoise  de  Foix,  Comtesse  rie  Chateaubriand,  born  in 
7491,  and  the  favourite  of  Francis  I.,  who  soon  abandoned  her  :  indeed,  the 
lines  appear  to  anticipate  his  infidelity.  They  were  written  before  tlie  battle 
of  Pavia. 

referevce  to  Ireland ;  and  we  are  astonished  at  the  unfairness  of  giving  (as  Moore  has 
done)  'a  pretended  quotation  from  "Ni»irod  "  without  indicating  7vlu-rc  it  is  to  be  met 
with  in  the  volume. — O.  V. 


I 


The  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore. 


93 


CHANSON 

de  la  Comtessc  dc  Ckateaitbriand 
a  Francois  I. 

Va  oil  la  gloire  t'invlte  ; 
Et  quand  d'orgueil  palpite 

Ce  Coeur,  qu'il  pense  a  moi ! 
Quand  Teloge  enfiamme 
Toute  I'ardeur  de  ton  ame, 

Pense  encore  a  moi ! 
Autres  charmes  peut-etre 
Tu  voudras  connaitre, 
Autre  amour  en  maitre 

Regnera  sur  toi  ; 
Mais  quand  ta  Ifevre  presse 
Celle  qui  te  caresse, 

Mechant,  pense  a  moi ! 

Quand  au  soir  tu  erres 
Sous  I'astre  des  bergtres, 

Pense  aux  doux  instans 
Lorsque  cette  etoile, 
Qu'un  beau  ciel  devoile, 

Guida  deux  amans  ! 
Quand  la  fleur,  symbole 
iJ'ete  qui  s'envole, 
Penche  sa  tete  molle, 

S'exhalant  a  I'air, 
Pense  a  la  guirlande, 
De  ta  mie  roffrande— 

Don  qui  fut  si  cher  ! 

Quand  la  feuille  d'automne 
Sous  tes  pas  resonne, 

Pense  alors  a.  moi  ! 
Quand  de  la  famille 
L'antique  foj'er  brille, 

Pense  encore  a  moi  ! 
Et  si  de  la  chanteuse 
La  voix  melodieuse 
Berce  ton  ame  heureuse 

Et  ravit  tes  sens, 
Pense  a  I'air  que  chante 
Pour  toi  ton  amante— 

Tant  aimes  accens  ! 


TOM  MOORE'S 

Translation  of  this  Song  in  the  Irish 

Melodies. 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee  ; 
But  while  fame  elates  thee. 

Oh,  still  remember  me  ! 
When  the  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  is  sweetest. 

Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 
Other  arms  may  press  thee. 
Dearer  friends  caress  thee — 
All  the  joys  that  bless  thee 

Dearer  far  may  be  : 
But  when  friends  are  dearest. 
And  when  joys  are  nearest. 

Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 

When  at  eve  thou  rovest 
By  the  star  thou  lovest. 

Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 
Think,  when  home  returning. 
Bright  \\e've  seen  it  burning — 

Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 
Oft  as  summer  closes. 
When  thine  eye  reposes 
On  its  lingering  roses. 

Once  so  loved  by  thee. 
Think  of  her  who  wove  them — 
Her  who  made  thee  love  them 

Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 

When  around  thee,  dying. 
Autumn  leaves  are  lying, 

Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 
And  at  night,  when  gazing 
On  the  gay  hearth  blazing. 

Oh,  still  remember  me  ! 
Then,  should  music,  stealing 
All  the  soul  of  feeling, 
To  thy  heart  appealing. 

Draw  one  tear  from  thee  ; 
Then  let  memory  bring  thee 
Strains  I  used  to  sing  thee  — 

Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 


Any  one  who  has  the  slightest  tincture  of  French  hterature  must  recognize 
the  simple  and  unsophisticated  style  of  a  genuine  love-song  in  the  above,  the 
language  being  that  of  the  century  in  which  Clement  Marotand  Maitre  Adam 
wrote  their  incomparable  ballads,  and  containing  a  kindly  admixture  of  gentle- 
ness and  sentimental  delicacy,  which  no  one  but  a  "  ladye"  and  a  lovmg  heart 
could  infuse  into  the  composition.  :Moore  has  not  been  infelicitous  m  render- 
ing the  charms  of  the  wondrous  original  into  English  lines  adapted  to  the 
measure  and  tune  of  the  French.  The  air  is  plaintive  and  exquisitively  beauti- 
ful; but  I  recommend  it  to  be  tried  first  on  the  French  words,  as  it  was  sung 
by  the  charming  lips  of  the  Countess  of  Chateaubriand  to  the  enraptured  ear 
of  the  gallant  Francis  I. 

The  following   pathetic  strain   is   the  only  Hterary  relic   which   has  been 

preser\-ed  of  the  unfortunate  Marquis  de  Cinqmars,  who  was  disappointed  m 

;:  a  love  affair,  and  who,  "  to  fling  forget  fulness  around  him,"  mixed  in  pohtics, 

\  conspired   against    Cardinal  Richeheu,  was  betrayed  by  an  accomplice,  and 

\  perished  on  the  scaffold.     Aloore  has  transplanted  it  entire  into  his  "  National 


94 


TJic   Works  of  Father  Front. 


Melodies  ;  "  but  is  ven*  careful  not  to  give  the  nation  or  writer  whence  he  trans- 
lated it. 


LE  MARQUIS  DE  CINQMARS. 

Tu  r\2L=>    fait,  6  mon  coeur!  qu'un  beau 
scnge. 
Qui  te  fut,  he!as  I  ravi  trop  tot ; 
Ce  doux  reve,  ah  dieux  !  qu'il  se  prolonge, 
Je  consens  a  n'aspirer  plus  haut. 
Faut-il  que  d'avance 
Jeune  esperance 
Le  destin  detruise  ton  avenir? 
Faut-il  que  la  rose 
La  premiere  eclose 
Soit  celle  qu'il  se  plaise  a  fletrir  ? 

Tu  n'as  fait,  &c. 

Que  de  fois  tu  trompas  notre  attente, 
Aniitie,  sceur  de  I'amour  trompeur  ! 
De  i'amour  la  coupe  encore  enchante 
A  rami  on  li\Te  encor'  son  ccEur  : 
L'insecte  qui  file 
Sa  trame  inutile 
"    Voit  perir  cent  fois  le  frele  tissu  ; 
Tel,  amour  ensorcele 
Lhomme  qui  renouvelle 
Des  liens  qui  I'ont  cent  fois  defu  ! 
Tu  n'as  fait,  SiC. 


THOMAS  MOORE. 

O  !  'twas  all  but  a  dream  at  the  best — 
And  still  when  happiest,  soonest  o'er  : 
But  e'en  in  a  dream  to  be  blest 

Is  so  sweet,  that  I  ask  for  no  more  I 
The  bosom  that  opes 
With  earliest  hopes 
The  soonest  finds  those  hopes  untrue  ; 
Like  flowers  that  first 
In  spring-time  burst. 
The  soonest  whither  too  ! 

Oh,  'twas  all  but,  &.C. 


By  friendship  we've  oft  been  deceived. 

And  love,  even  love,  too  soon  is  past ; 
But  friendship  will  still  be  believed. 
And  love  trusted  on  to  the  last ; 
Like  the  web  in  the  leaves 
The  spider  weaves 
Is  the  charm  that  hangs  o'er  men— 
Tho'  oft  as  he  sees 
It  broke  by  the  breeze. 
He  weaves  the  bright  line  again  ! 
O  I    twas  all  but,  &:c. 


Ever}-  thing  was  equally  acceptable  in  the  way  of  a  song  to  Tommy ;  and 
provided  I  brought  grist  to  his  mill,  he  did  not  care  where  the  produce  came 
from — even  the  wild  oats  and  the  thistles  of  native  growth  on  W'atergrasshill, 
all  was  good  provender  for  his  Pegasus.  There  was  an  old  Latin  song  of  my 
own,  which  I  made  when  a  boy,  smitten  with  the  charms  of  an  Irish  milkmaid, 
who  crossed  by  the  hcdgc-school  occasionally,  and  who  used  to  distract  my 
attention  from  "  Corderius  "  and  "  Erasmi  CoUoquia."  I  have  often  laughed  at 
my  juvenile  gallantrj'  when  my  eye  has  met  the  copy  of  verses  in  overhauling 
my  papers.  Tommy  saw  it,  grasped  it  w  ith  avidity  ;  and  I  find  he  has  g^ven  it, 
word  for  word,  in  an  English  shape  in  his  "  Irish  Melodies.  "  Let  the  intelli- 
gent reader  judge  if  he  has  done  common  justice  to  my  young  muse. 


IN  PULCHRAM  LACTIFERAM. 

Carmen,  Aticiore  Prjut. 

LesLia  semper  hinc  et  indfe 

Oculorum  tela  movit  : 
Captat  omnes,  sed  deindfe 

Quis  ametur  nemo  novit. 
Palpebrarum,  Nora  cara, 

Lu.v  tiiarum  non  est  foris, 
Flamma  micat  ibi  rara, 

Sed  sinceri  lux  ami.>ris. 
Nora  Creina  sit  regina, 

Vultu,  gressu  tarn  modesto  ! 
Hsec,  puellas  inter  bellas, 

Jure  omnium  dux  esto  ! 


Lesbia  vestes  auro  graves 
Fert.  et  gcmmis,  juxta  normam; 

Gratia;  sed,  eheu  !  >uaves 
(Jinctam  reliqucre  formam. 


TO  A  BEAUTIFUL  MILKMAID. 
A  Melody,  by  Thomas  Moore. 

Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye. 

But  no  one  knows  for  whom  it  beameth ; 
Right  and  left  its  arrows  fly. 

But  what  they  aim  at,  no  one  dreameth. 
Sweeter  'tis  to  gaze  upon 

My  Norah's  lid,  that  seldom  rises  ; 
Few  her  looks,  but  ever}-  one 

Like  unexpected  light  surprises. 
O,  my  Norah  Creina  dear  ! 

My  gentle,  bashful  Norah  Creina  ! 
Beauty  lies 
In  many  eyes — 

But  love's  in  thine,  my  Norah  Creina ! 

Lesbia  wears  a  robe  of  gold ; 

Hut  all  so  tight  the  nymph  hath  laced  it. 
Not  a  charm  of  beauty's  mould 

Presumes  to  stay  where  nature  placed  it 


The  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore. 


95 


Norse  tunicam  prseferres, 

Flante  zephyro  volantem  ; 
Oculis  et  raptis  erres 

Contemplando  ambulantem 
Vesta  Nora  tam  decora 

Semper  indui  memento. 
Semper  purae  sic  naturae 

Ibis  tecta  vestimento. 


Lesbia  mentis  praefert  lumen, 

Quod  coruscat  perlibenter  ; 
Sed  quis  optet  hoc  acumen, 

.  Quando  acupuncta  deatur  ? 
Norae  sinu  cum  recliner, 

Dormio  luxuriose 
Nil  corrugat  hoc  pulvinar. 

Nisi  crispas  ruga  ross. 
Nora  blanda,  lux  amanda, 

Expers  usque  tenebrarum, 
Tu  cor  mulces  per  tot  dulces. 

Dotes,  fons  illecebrarum  ! 


O,  my  Norah's  gown  for  me. 

That  floats  a$  wild  as  mountain  breezes. 
Leaving  every  beauty  free 

To  sink  or  swell  as  Heaven  pleases. 
Yes,  my  Norah  Creina  dear  ! 
]\Iy  simple,  graceful  Norah  Creina  ! 
Nature's  dress 
Is  loveliness — • 
The  dress  you  wear,  vc^y  Norah  Creina  ! 

Lesbia  hath  a  wit  refined  ; 

But  when  its  points  are  gleaming  round  us. 
Who  can  tell  if  they're  design'd 

To  dazzle  merelj',  or  to  wound  us  ? 
Pillow'd  on  my  Norah's  heart, 

In  safer  slumber  Love  reposes — 
Bed  of  peace,  whose  roughest  part 

Is  but  the  crumpling  of  the  roses. 
O,  my  Norah  Creina  dear  ! 

i\ly  mild,  my  artless  Norah  Creina  ! 
Wit,  though  bright. 
Hath  not  the  light 

That  warms  your  eyes,  my  Norah  Creina  ! 


It  will  be  seen  by  these  specimens  that  Tom  Moore  can  eke  out  a  tolerably 
fair  translation  of  any  given  ballad  ;  and  indeed,  to  translate  properly,  retain- 
ing all  the  fire  and  spirit  of  the  original,  is  a  merit  not  to  be  sneezed  at — it  is 
the  next  best  thing  to  having  a  genius  of  one's  own ;  for  he  who  can  execute 
a  clever  forgery,  and  make  it  pass  current,  is  almost  as  well  off  as  the  capitalist 
who  can  draw  a  substantial  check  on  the  bank  of  sterling  genius  :  so,  to  give 
the  devil  his  due,  I  must  acknowledge  that  in  terseness,  point,  pathos,  and 
elegance,  Moore's  translations  of  these  French  and  Latin  trifles  are  very  near 
as  good  as  the  primary  compositions  themselves.  He  has  not  been  half  so 
lucky  in  hiaing  off  Anacreon  ;  but  he  was  a  yoimg  man  then,  and  a  "wild 
fellow ;  "  since  which  time  it  is  thought  that  he  has  got  to  that  climacteric  in 
life  to  which  few  poets  attain,  viz.,  the  years  of  discretion.  A  predatory  sort  of 
life,  the  career  of  a  literary  freebooter,  has  had  great  charms  for  him  from  his 
cradle  ;  and  I  am  afraid  that  he  will  pursue  it  on  to  final  impenitence.  He 
seems  to  care  little  about  the  stern  reception  he  will  one  day  receive  from  that 
inflexible  judge,  Rhadamanthus,  who  will  make  him  confess  all  his  rogueries — 
"  Castigatque  dolos,  subigitque  fateri  " — our  bard  being  of  that  epicurean  and  . 
careless  turn  of  mind  so  strikingly  expressed  in  these  Unes  of  "  Lalla 
Rookh"— 

"01  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth. 
It  is  this  1  it  is  this  I  " 

Which  verses,  by  the  by,  are  alone  enough  to  convict  him  of  downright 
plagiarism  and  robbery;  for  they  are  (as  Tommy  knows  right  well)  to  be  seen 
written  in  large  letters  in  the  Mogul  language  over  the  audience-chamber  of 
the  King  of  Delhi:*  in  fact,  to  examine  and  overhaul  his  "Lalla  Rookh" 
would  be  a  most  diverting  task,  which  I  may  one  day  undertake.  He  will  be 
found  to  have  been  a  chartered  pirate  in  the  Persian  Gulf,  as  he  was  a  high- 
wayman in  Europe — "  spoliis  Orientis  onustum." 

But  the  favourite  field  in  whix;h  Tommy  has  carried  on  his  depredations,  to 
an  almost  incredible  extent,  is  that  of  the  early  French  troubadours,  whose 
property  he  has  thought  fair  game,  availing  himself  thereof  without  scruple. 
In  his  soi-disant  "Irish"  Melodies,  and  indeed  in  all  his  effusions  of  more 
refined  gallantry,  he  has  poured  in  a  large  infusion  of  the  spirit  and  the  letter 

*'  See  the  Asiatic  Jozirnal  {ox  Maj',  1S34,  p.  2. 


96  The    Works  of  Father  Front. 

of  southern  France.  To  be  sure,  he  has  mixed  up  with  the  pure,  simple,  and 
genuine  inspirations  of  the^  primitive  hearts,  wlio  loved,  in  the  olden  time, 
after  nature's  fashion,  much  of  his  own  overstrained  fancy,  strange  conceits,  and 
forced  metaphors;  but  the  initiated  can  easily  distinguish  when  it  is  he 
speaketh  i/i  proprid  person '1,  and  when  it  is  that  he  uses  the  pathetic  and  soul- 
stirring  language  of  the  minC-strels  of  Gaul,  those  legitimate  laureates  of  love. 
There  has  been  a  squib  fired  off  by  some  wag  of  the  sixteenth  century  against 
an  old  astrologer,  who  practised  m.any  rogueries  in  his  generation,  and  which 
I  think  not  inapplicable  to  Moore  : 

"  Nostra  <lamus  ciim  falsa  damus,  nam  fallere  nostrum  est : 
Et  cum  falsa  damus,  non  nisi  Nostra  damns." 

And,  only  it  were  a  profanation  to  place  two  such  personages  in  juxtaposition, 
I  would  say  that  Moore  might  use  the  affecting,  the  soul-rending  appeal  of  the 
ill-fated  Mary  Stuart,  addressed  to  that  land  of  song  and  civihziition  which  she 
was  quilting  for  ever,  when  she  exclaimed,  as  the  Gallic  shore  receded  from  her 
view,  that  ' '  half  of  her  heart  would  still  be  found  on  the  loved  plains  of  France, 
and  even  the  other  half  pined  to  rejoin  it  in  its  primitive  abodes  of  pleasantness 
and  joy."  The  song  of  the  unfortunate  queen  is  too  exquisitely  beautiful  not 
to  be  given  here  by  me,  such  as  she  sang  it  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel  that 
wafted  her  away  from  the  scenes  of  her  youth  and  the  blessings  of  friendship, 
to  seek  the  dismal  regions  of  bleak  barbarity  and  murderous  fanaticism.  I 
also  give  it  because  Tommy  has  modelled  on  it  his  melody,  "  As  slow  our  ship 
its  foamy  track,"  and  Byron  his  "  Native  land,  good  night ! " 

"Adieu,  plaisant  pays  de  France  ! 

Oh,  ma  patrie  la  plus  cherie, 
Qui  as  nourri  ma  jeune  enfance — 

Adieu,  France  !  adieu,  mes  beau.K  jours  ! 
La  nef  qui  dejoint  mes  amours 

N'a  ici  de  moi  que  la  moitie  ; 
Une  part  te  reste,  elle  est  tienne, 

Je  la  fie  a  ton  amiti^ — 
Pour  que  de  I'autre,  il  te  sou\4enrie  !  " 

I  now  come  to  a  more  serious  charge  against  the  gentleman  of  "Sloperton  Cot- 
tage, Wiltshire,"  and  it  will  require  more  mother-wit  than  he  is  known  to  possess 
to  bamboozle  the  public  into  a  satisfactory  belief  in  his  innocence.  To  plunder 
the  French  is  all  right ;  but  to  rob  his  own  countr)'men  is  what  the  late  Lord 
Liverpool  would  call  "  too  bad."  I  admit  the  claims  of  the  poet  on  the  grati- 
tude of  the  aboriginal  Irish  ;  for  glorious  Dan  might  have  exerted  his  leathern 
lungs  during  a  century  in  haranguing  the  native  sans  culottes  on  this  side  of 
the  Channel  ;  but  had  not  the  "Melodies"  made  emancipation  palatable  to 
the  thinking  and  generous  portion  of  Britain's  free-bom  sons— had  not  his 
poetry  spoken  to  the  hearts  of  the  great  and  the  good,  and  enlisted  the  fair 
daughters  of  England,  the  spouters  would  have  been  but  objects  of  scorn  and 
contempt.  The  "  Melodies"  won  the  cause  silently,  imperceptibly,  effectually; 
and  if  there  be  a  tribute  due  from  that  class  of  the  native,  it  is  to  the  child  of 
song.  Poets,  however,  are  always  destined  to  be  poor  ;  and  such  used  to  be 
the  case  with  patriots  too,  until  the  rint  opened  the  eyes  of  the  public,  and 
aught  them  that  even  that  sacred  and  exalted  passion,  love  of  country,  could 
resolve  itself,  through  an  Irish  alembic,  into  an  ardent  love  for  the  copper 
currency  of  one's  native  land.  The  dagge*  of  Harmodius,  which  used  to  be 
concealed  under  a  wreath  of  myrtle,  is  now-a-days  hidden  within  the  cavity  of 
a  church-door  begging-box  :  and  Tom  Moore  cm  only  claim  the  second  part 
of  the  celebrated  line  of  'V'irgil,  as  the  first  evidently  refers  to  Mr.  OConnell ; 

"j-Ere  ciere  viros — Martemque  accendere  caniti." 
But  I  am  digressing  from  the  serious  charge  I  mean  to  bring  against  the  author 


The  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore. 


97 


of  that  beautiful  melody,  "  The  Shamrock."  Does  not  Tom  Moore  know  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  in  France  as  the  Irish  brigade  ?  and  does  he  not  fear 
and  tremble  lest  the  ghosts  of  that  valiant  crew,  whom  he  has  robbed  of  their 
due  honours,  should,  "in  the  stilly  night,  when  slumber's  chains  have  bound 
him,"  drag  his  small  carcase  to  the  Styx,  and  give  him  a  well-merited  sousing? 
For  why  should  he  exhibit  as  his  production  their  favourite  song  ?  and  what 
ineffable  audacity  to  palm  off  on  modern  drawing-rooms  as  his  oxon  that  glorious 
carol  which  made  the  tents  of  Fontenoy  ring  wirh  its  exhilarating  music,  and 
which  old  Geneml  Stack,  who  lately  died  at  Calais,  used  to  sing  so  gallantly  ? 


LE   TREFLE   D'IRLANDE. 

Chanson  dc  la  Brigade,  1748. 

Un  jour  en  Hybernie, 

D'Amour  le  beau  genie 
Et  le  dieu  de  la  Vai.elk  firent  rencontre 

Avec  le  "  Bel  Esprit," 

Ce  drole  qui  se  rit 
De  tout  ce  qui  lui  vient  a  Tencontre  ; 

Partout  leur  pas  reveille^ 

Une  herbe  a  triple  feuille, 
Que  la  nuit  humecta  de  ses  pleurs, 

Et  que  la  douce  aurore 

Fraichement  fait  eclorre, 
De  I'emeraude  elie  a  les  couleurs. 

Vive  le  trefle  ! 

Vive  le  vert  gazon  ! 
De  la  patrie,  terre  ch6rie  ! 

L'embleme  est  bel  et  bon  ! 

Valeur,  d'un  ton  superbe, 

S'ecrie,  "  i-'our  moi  cette  herbe 
Croit  sitot  qu'elle  me  voit  ici  paraitre  ;  " 

Amolr  lui  dit,  "  Non,  non, 

C'est  moi  que  le  gazon 
Konore  en  ces  bijoux  qu'il  fait  naitre  : " 

Mais  Bel  Esprit  dirige 

Sur  I'herbe  a  triple  tige 
Un  osil  observateur,  a  son  tour, 

"  Pourquoi,"  dit-il,  "  defaire 

Un  ncEud  si  beau,  qui  serre 
En  ce  type  Esprit,  Valeur,  et  Amour  !" 

Vive  le  trefle  ! 

Vive  le  vert  gazon  ! 
De  la  patrie,  terre  cherie  ! 

L'embleme  est  bel  et  bon  ! 

Prions  le  Ciel  qu'il  dure 

Ce  noeud,  oil  la  nature 
Voudrait  voir  une  eternelle  alliance  ; 

Que  nul  venin  jamais 

N'empoisonne  les  traits 
Qu'a  I'entour  si  gaiement  I'EsPRiT  lance  ! 

Que  nul  tyran  ne  reve 

D'user  le  noble  glaive 
De  la  Valeur  centre  la  liberty ; 

Et  que  FAmour  suspende 

Sa  plus  belle  guirlande 
Sur  I'autel  de  la  fidelite  ! 

Vive  le  trefle  ! 

Vive  le  vert  gazon  ! 
De  la  patrie,  terre  cherie  ! 

L'embleme  est  bel  et  bon  ! 


THE   SHAMROCK. 

A  ^'Melody"  of  Tom  Moore s,  1813. 

Through  Erin's  isle. 

To  sport  awhile, 
As  Lo\e  and  Valour  wander'd 

\\'uh  Wit  the  sprite, 

\\'hose  quiver  bright 
A  thousand  arrows  squander'd  : 

Where'er  they  pass 

A  triple  grass 
Shoots  up,  with  dewdrops  streaming. 

As  softly  green 

As  emeralds  seen 
Through  purest  crystal  gleaming. 

O  the  shamrock  ! 

The  green  immortal  shamrock  ! 
Chosen  leaf  of  bard  and  chief. 

Old  Erin's  native  shamrock  ! 

Says  Valour,  "  See  ! 

They  spring  for  me— 
Those  leafy  gems  of  morning  ;  " 

Says  Love,  "  No,  no. 

For  me  they  grow. 
My  fragrant  path  adorning." 

But  Wit  perceives 

The  triple  leaves. 
And  cries,  "  O,  do  not  sever 

A  type  that  blends 

Three  god-like  friends- 
Wit,  Valour,  Love,  for  ever  ! " 

O  the  shamrock  ! 

The  green  immortal  shamrock  ! 
Chosen  leaf  of  bard  and  chief. 

Old  Erin's  native  shamrock  ! 

So  firm  and  fond 

]\Liy  last  the  bond 
They  wove  that  morn  together  ; 

And  ne'er  may  fall 

One  drop  of  gall 
On  Wit's  celestial  feather  ! 

May  Love,  as  shoot 

His  flowers  and  fruit. 
Of  thorny  falsehood  weed  them ; 

Let  Valour  ne'er 

His  standard  rear 
Against  the  cause  of  freedom. 

Or  of  the  shamrock, 

The  green  immortal  shamrock  ! 
Chosen  leaf  of  bard  and  chief, 

Old  Erin's  native  shamrock  ! 


*  Alia  lectio  :  partojit  Icjir  main  reciieiiie. 


98 


The   Works  of  Father  Front. 


MoliiTe  has  written  a  pleasant  and  instructive  comedy  entitled  the  Foiirberies 
dc  Sc.ipin,  \vhi_-h  I  recommend  to  Tom's  perusal;  and  in  the  "  speUing-book" 
which  I  used  to  con  over  when  at  the  hedge-school  with  my  foster-brother 
George  Knapp,  who  has  since  risen  to  eminence  as  mayor  of  Cork,  but  with 
whom  I  used  then  to  share  the  reading  of  the  "Universal  SpeUing-Book " 
(having  but  one  between  us),  there  is  an  awful  story  about  "Tommy  and  Harry,"' 
very  capable  of  deterring  youthful  minds  from  evil  practices,  especially  the 
large  wood-cut  representing  a  lion  tearing  the  stomach  of  the  luckless  wight 
who  led  a  career  of  wickedness.  Had  Tommy  Moore  been  brought  up  properly 
(as  Knapp  and  I  were)  he  would  not  have  committed  so  many  depredations, 
which  he  ought  to  know  would  be  discovered  on  him  at  last,  and  cause  him 
bitterly  to  repent  his  "rogueries." 

With  all  mv  sense  of  indignation,  unabated  and  unmitigated  at  the  unfairness 
with  which  O'Brien  "of  the  round  towers"  has  been  treated,  and  which  has 
prompted  me  to  make  disclosures  which  would  have  otherwise  slept  with  me  in 
the  grave,  I  must  do  Moore  the  justice  to  applaud  his  accurate,  spirited,  and 
sometimes  exquisite  translations  from  recondite  MSS.  and  other  totally  unex- 
plored writings  of  antiquity.  I  felt  it  my  duty,  in  the  course  of  these  strictures,  to 
denounce  the  version  of  Anacreon  as  a  total  failure,  only  to  be  accounted  for  by 
the  extreme  youth  and  inexperience  of  the  subsequently  matured  and  polished 
melodist ;  but  there  is  an  obscure  Greek  poet,  called  '^-raKKo^  Mop^toji?,  whose 
ode  on  whiskv,  or  negus,  composed  about  the  sixteenth  olympiad,  according  to 
the  chronology  of  Archbishop  Usher,  he  has  splendidly  and  most  Uterally 
rendered  into  English  Anacreontic  verse,  thus  : 


2— a/v'vov  Moj)f^*)tc?os  layy^. 

[Stat  nonuuis  umbra.) 

'S.re\j/(i)fi.ev  ovv  icvrreWov 
Tois  avBefiOLTi  \!/v\7)^, 
T019  <*>epraro:<;  dpei'cs  y'  a 
'Hull'  cvvaivr'  e(b=vpei.v. 
TavTrj  yap  ovpxi'orSe 
Ttj  WKTi  Set  77e-a<r6aJ., 
TaVTqv  AiTTOiTcs  aiav. 
El  7'  ovv  Epuii  XaBoiro 
Toi?  crre/x/x are (Tcr'  a  Tepi^ij 
'H^ii"  fiayo^  6i5(i)crii', 
OuTToj  (^0^0?  -yei-oiTO, 
'n?  yap  TrapecTTLy  oti'O?, 
Ba'^bj/jiev  eiye  /cerrei. 

'n?  fioL  Kfyov(Ti,  veKTop 
IToAai  eTTu'oi'  'HPAI 
Kai  ZH.NES  Tjflf  •t'OIBOI. 
Efeo-Ti  (cai  Pp-yroiiii' 
'Hfjiiv  irouiv  TO  i-eKTap' 
rioirjTeoi'  yap  J>6f 
TovToy  Aa/3oi'T€s  oiroi', 
Tov  xapixaros  Trpocrto-015 
A/i(6i  <TKV<*>o<;  <rT€(f)0i'7es, 
Tore  <f>p(v<i)i'  (^aeiKrji' 
TToroj  \foyT(^  avyrji-, 
I60U,  JrapcoTi  v€KTap. 

Tiwt'  ovv  \povc%  ye  xjjanfiio 
Triv  Kke\!/v6pav  eTT\rj>T€ 
Tiji'  ay\ar)v  afiKd  ; 
Eu  fifv  yap  oiley  olvov 
TaxvTtpov  Siappeiv, 
iTiKTTvwTfpov  re  Aofurctv 


OX  WHISKY  OR  XEGUS. 

By  Moore. 

Wreathe  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us  ; 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Towards  heaven  to-night. 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us. 

Should  Love  amid 

The  wreath  be  hid, 
That  joy  th'  enchanter  brings  us  ; 

No  danger  fear 

While  wine  is  near — 
We'll  drown  him  if  he  stings  us. 

Then  wTeathe  the  bowl,  &c.,  &C 

'Twas  nectar  fed 

Of  old,  'tis  said. 
Their  Junos,  Joves,  ApoUos  ; 

And  man  may  brew 

His  nectar  too — 
The  rich  receipt's  as  follows  : 

Take  wine  like  this. 

Let  looks  of  bliss 
Around  it  well  be  blended  : 

Then  bring  wit's  beam 

To  warm  the  stream — 
And  there's  your  nectar  splendid. 

Then  wreathe  the  bowl,  &c.,  &c. 

Say,  why  did  Time 

His  glass  sublime 
Fill  UT  with  sands  un^^ghtly, 

When  wine,  he  knew, 

Runs  brisker  through. 
And  sparkles  far  more  brightly  ? 


The  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore. 


99 


Ao?  ov.'.  6oj  r\iiiv  avTTjv, 

Kal  /jt€t5ta)l'T€S  OVTOJ? 

Tvjf  K\e\j/v8pai'  a\LaavTe<;, 
Ilonjtrojaei'  -yf  ScrrAtfj 

E,a7rA>ja"o/xet'  o"  eratpoi. 


O  lend  It  us, 

And,  smiling,  thus 
The  glass  in  two  we'd  sever. 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  double  tide, 
And  fill  both  ends  for  ever. 

Then  wreathe  the  bowl,  &c.,  &c. 


Such  carefully  finished  translations  as  this  from  Sxa/c/cos,  in  which  not  an 
idea  or  beauty  of  the  Greek  is  lost  in  the  English  version,  must  necessarily  do 
Tommy  infinite  credit  ;  and  the  only  drawback  on  the  abundant  praise  whi'cli  I 
should  otherwise  feel  inclined  to  bestow  on  die  Anacreontic  versifier,  is  the  fatal 
neglect,  or  perhaps  wilful  treachery,  which  has  led  him  to  deny  or  suppress  ir,e 
sources  of  his  inspiration,  and  induced  him  to  appear  in  the  discreditable 
fashion  of  an  Irish  jackdaw  in  the  borrowed  plumage  of  a  Grecian  peacock. 
The  splendour  of  poesy,  like  "  Malachy's  collar  of  gold,"  is  round  his  neck, 
but  he  won  it  from  a  stranger  :  the  green  glories  of  the  emerald  adorn  his  glow- 
ing crest— or,  as  Phasdrus  says, 

"  Nitor  smaragdi  collo  refulget  tuo — " 

but  if  you  ruffle  his  feathers  a  little,  j-ou  will  find  that  his  literary  toilette  is  com- 
posed of  what  the  French  coiffeurs  call  des  orncmens  postiches ;  and  that  there 
was  never  a  more  called-for  declaration  than  the  avowal  which  he  himself  makes 
in  one  of  his  Melodies,  when,  talking  of  the  wild  strains  of  the  Irish  harp,  he 
admits,  he  "  luas  but  the  wind  passing  heedlessly  over"  its  chords,  and  that  the 
mtisic  was  by  no  means  his  own. 

A  simple  hint  was  sometimes  enough  to  set  his  muse  at  work  ;  and  he  not 
only  was,  to  my  knowledge,  an  adepF  in  translating  accurately,  but  he  could 
also  string  together  any  number  of  fines  in  any  given  measure,'  in  imitatio/i  of 
a  song  or  ode  which  casually  came  in  his  way.  This  is  not  such  arrant 
robbery  as  what  1  have  previously  stigmatized  ;  but  it  is  a  sort  of  <^«c?j/-pilfer- 
ing,  a  kind  of  petty  larceny,  not  to  be  encourageck  There  is,  for  instance,  his 
"  National  Melody,"  or  jingle,  called,  in  the  early  edition  of  his  poems,  "Those 
Evening  Bells,"  a  "Petersburg  air ;"  of  which  I  could  unfold  the  natural 
history.  It  is  this  : — In  one  of  his  frequent  visits  to  \\'atergrasshill,  Tommy 
ind  I  spent  the  evening  in  talking  of  our  continental  travels,  and  more  par- 
ncularly  of  Paris  and  its  mirabilia  ;  of  which  he  seemed  quite  enamoured. 
The  view  from  the  tower  of  the  central  church,  Notre  Dame,  greatly  struck 
his  fancy  ;  and  I  drew  the  conversation  to  the  subject  of  the  simultaneous  ring- 
ing of  all  the  bells  in  all  the  steeples  of  that  vast  metropolis  on  some  feast-day, 
or  public  rejoicing.  The  effect,  he  agreed  with  me,  is  most  enchanting,  and 
the  liarmony  most  surprising.  At  that  time  \'ictor  Hugo  had  not  written  his 
glorious  romance,  the  "Hunchback  Quasimodo;  "  and,  consequently,  I  could 
not  have  read  his  beautiful  description  .  "  In  an  ordinary  way,  the  noise  issuing 
from  Paris  in  the  day-time  is  the  talking  of  the  city  ;  at  night,  it  is  the  breath- 
ing oi  the  city;  in  this  case,  it  is  the  singing  of  the  city.  I>end  your  ear  to 
this  opera  of  steeples.  Diffuse  over  the  whole  the  buzzing  of  half  a  milhon  of 
human  beings,  the  eternal  murmur  of  the  river,  the  infinite  piping  of  the  wind, 
the  grave  and  distant  quartette  of  the  four  forests,  placed  like  immense  organs 
on  the  four  hills  of  the  horizon  ;  soften  down  as  with  a  demi-tint  all  that  is  too 
shrill  and  too  harsh  in  the  central  mass  of  sound, — and  say  if  you  know  any- 
thing in  the  world  more  rich,  more  gladdening,  more  dazzling,  than  that  tumult 
of  bells — than  that  furnace  of  music — than  those  ten  thousand  brazen  tones, 
breathed  all  at  once  {xoxn  flutes  of  stone  three  hundred  feet  high—\.\\2iX\  that  city 
^.hich  is  but  one  orchestra — than  tha  symphony,  rushing  and  roaring  like  a 
tempest. "^  All  these  matters,  we  agreed,  were  very  fine  ;  but  there  is  nothing, 
after  all,  like  the  associations  which  early  infancy  attaches  to  the  well-known 


I(X) 


The   Works  of  Father  Front. 


and  long-remembered  chimes  of  our  own  parish  steeple  :  and  no  magic  can 
equal  the  effect  on  our  ear  when  returning  after  long  absence  in  foreign,  and 
perhaps  happier  countries.  As  we  perfectly  coincided  in  the  truth  of  this 
observation,  I  added,  that  long  ago,  while  at  Rome,  I  had  thrown  my  ideas 
into  the  shape  of  a  song,  which  I  would  smg  him  to  the  tune  of  the  "  Groves." 

THE   SHANDON   BELLS.* 

Sabbata  pango, 
funera  plango, 
solemnia  clango. 

Inscrip.  on  an  old  Bell^r 

With  deep  affection 
And  recollection 
I  often  think  of 

Those  Shandon  bells, 
Whose  sounds  so  wild  woidd, 
In  the  days  of  childhood, 
Fling  round  my  cradle 

Their  magic  spells. 
On  this  I  ponder 
Where'er  I  wander 
And  thus  grow  fonder, 

Sweet  Cork,  of  thee  ; 
With  thy  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

I've  heard  bells  chiming 
Full  many  a  clime  in. 
Tolling  sublime  in 

Cathedral  shrine. 
While  at  a  glibe  rate 
Brass  tongues  would  vibrate- 
But  all  their  music 

Spoke  naught  like  thine  ; 
For  memory  dwelling 
On  each  proud  swelling 
Of  the  belfry  knelling 

Its  bold  notes  free, 
Made  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

I've  heard  bells  tolling 
Old  "  Adrian's  Mole  "  in, 
Their  thunder  rolling 
From  the  A'atican, 
And  cymbals  glorious 
Swinging  uproarious 
In  the  gorgeous  turrets 
Of  Notre  Dame ; 

*  The  church  and  spire  of  Shandon,  built  on  the  ruins  of  old  Shandon  Castle  (for 
which  see  the  plates  in  "  Pacata  Hybernia  "),  is  a  prominent  object,  from  whatever  side 
the  traveller  approaches  our  beautiful  city.  There  exists  a  pathetic  ballad,  composed  by 
some  exile  when  "eastward  darkly  going,"  in  which  he  begins  his  adieux  to  the  .sweet 
spot  thus  :  "  Farewell  to  thee,  Cork,  and  thy  sugar-loaf  steeple,"  &c.,  &c.  But  as  no- 
thing is  done  in  Ireland  in  the  ordinary  routine  of  sublunary  things,  this  belfry  is  built  on 
a  novel  and  rather  droll  principle  of  architecture,  viz.,  one  side  is  all  of  grey  stone,  and 
the  other  all  red,-  like  the  Prussian  soldier's  uniform  trousers,  one  leg  blue,  the  other 
^x^ftn.—Notc  hy  Crofton  Crokek. 


TJie  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore.  loi 

But  thy  sounds  were  sweeter 
Than  the  dome  of  Peter 
Flings  o'er  the  Tiber, 
PeaHng  solemnly ; — 

0  !  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

There's  a  bell  in  Moscow, 
While  on  tower  and  kiosk  O  ! 
In  Saint  Sophia 

The  Turkman  gets. 
And  loud  in  air 
Calls  men  to  prayer 
From  the  tapering  summit 

Of  tall  minarets. 
Such  empty  phantom 

1  freely  grant  them  ; 
But  there  is  an  anthem 

More  dear  to  me, — 
'Tis  the  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

Shortly  afterwards  jSIoore  published  his  "Evening  Bells,  st.  Petersburg  air." 
But  any  one  can  see  that  he  only  rings  a  few  changes  on  my  Roman  ballad, 
cunningly  shifting  the  scene  as  far  north  as  he  could,  to  avoid  detection.  He 
deserves  richly  to  be  sent  on  a  hurdle  to  Siberia. 

I  do  not  feel  so  much  hurt  at  this  nefarious  "  belle's  stratagem"  regarding 
me,  as  at  his  wickedness  towards  the  man  of  the  round  towers ;  and  to  this 
matter  T  turn  in  conclusion. 

"  O  blame  not  the  bard  !  "  some  folks  will  no  doubt  exclaim,  and  perhaps 
think  that  I  have  been  over-severe  on  Tommy,  in  my  vindication  of  0"B. ;  I 
can  only  say,  that  if  the  poet  of  all  circles  a?id  the  idol  of  his  own,  as  soon  as 
this  posthumous  rebuke  shall  meet  his  eye,  begins  to  repent  him  of  his  wicked 
attack  on  my  young  friend,  and,  turning  him  from  his  evil  ways,  betakes  him 
to  his  proper  trade  of  ballad-making,  then  shall  he  experience  the  comfort 
of  living  at  peace  with  all  mankind,  and  old  Prout's  blessing  shall  fall  as  a 
precious  ointment  on  his  head.  In  that  contingency  if  (as  I  understand  it  to 
be  his  intention)  he  should  happen  to  publish  a.  fresh  number  of  his  ' '  Melodies," 
may  it  be  eminently  successful  ;  and  may  Power  of  the  Strand,  by  some  more 
sterling  sounds  than  the  echoes  of  fame,  be  convinced  of  the  power  of  song — 

For  it  is  not  the  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill : 

O  no !  it  is  something  that  sounds  in  the  ' '  till  I " 

My  humble  patronage,  it  is  true,  cannot  do  much  for  him  in  fashionable  circles; 
for  I  never  mixed  much  in  the  dean  ??nvide  (at  least  in  Ireland),  during  my  hfe- 
time,  and  can  be  of  no  service,  of  course,  when  I'm  dead;  nor  will  his  "  ^lelo- 
dies,"  I  fear,  though  well  adapted  to  mortal  pianofortes,  answer  the  purposes 
of  that  celestial  choir  in  which  I  shall  then  be  an  obscure  but  cheerful  \ocalist. 
But  as  I  have  touched  on  this  great  topic  of  mortality,  let  Moore  recollect  that 
his  course  here  below,  however  harmonious  in  the  abstract,  must  have  a  finale  ; 
and  at  his  last  hour  let  him  not  treasure  up  for  himself  the  unpleasant  retrospect 
of  young  genius  nipped  in  the  bud  by  the  frost  of  his  criticism,  or  glad  enthu- 
siasm's early  promise  damped  by  inconsiderate  sneers.  O'Brien's  book  can,  and 
will,  no  doubt,  afford  much  matter  for  witticism  and  merriment  to  the  super- 
ficial, the  unthinking,  and  the  profane ;  but  to  the  eye  of  candour  it  ought  to 
have  presented  a  page  richly  fraught  with  wondrous  research— redolent  with    , 


102  The   Works  of  Father  Front. 

all  the  perfumes  of  Hindostan;  its  leaves,  if  they  failed  to  convince,  should, 
like  those  of  the  mysterious  lofi/s,  have  inculcated  silence;  and  if  the  finger  of 
meditation  did  not  rest  on  every  line,  and  pause  on  every  period,  the  volume, 
at  least,  sliould  not  be  indicated  to  the  vulgar  by  the  finger  of  scorn.  Even 
granting  that  there  were  in  the  book  some  errors  of  fancy,  of  judgment,  or  of 
style,  which  of  us  is  without  reproach  in  oxxr  juvenile  productions  ?  and  though 
I  myself  ain  old,  I  am  the  more  inclined  to  forgive  the  inaccuracies  of  youth. 
Again,  when  all  is  dark,  who  would  object  to  a  ray  of  light,  merely  because  of 
the  faulty  or  flickering  medium  by  which  it  is  transmitted?  And  if  these  round 
towers  have  been  hitherto  a  dark  puzzle  and  a  mystery,  must  we  scare  away 
O'Brien  because  he  approaches  with  a  rude  and  unpolished  but  serviceable 
lantern?  Xo  ;  forbid  it,  Diogenes  :  and  though  Tommy  may  attempt  to  put 
his  extinguisher  on  the  toiuers  and  their  hisforia?i,  there  is  enough  of  good 
sense  in  the  British  public  to  make  common  cause  with  O'Brien  the  enlightener. 
Moore  should  recollect,  that  knowledge  conveyed  in  any  shape  will  ever  find  a 
welcome  among  us  ;  and  that,  as  he  himself  beautifully  observes  in  his  "  Loves 
of  the  Angels" — 

"  Sunshine  broken  in  the  rill, 
Though  turn'd  aside,  is  sunshine  still." 

For  my  own  part,  I  protest  to  Heaven,  that  were  I,  while  wandering  in  a 
gloomy  forest,  to  meet  on  my  dreary  path  the  small,  faint,  ghmmering  light 
even  of  a  glow-worm,  I  should  shudder  at  the  thought  of  crushing  with  my 
foot  that  dim  speck  of  brilliancy;  and  were  it  only  for  its  being  akin  to  brighter 
rays,  honouring  it  for  its  relationship  to  the  stars,  I  would  not  harm  the  little 
lamplighter  as  1  passed  along  in  the  woodland  shade. 

If  Tommy  is  rabidly  bent  on  satire,  why  does  he  not  fall  foul  of  Doctor 
Lardner,  who  has  got  the  clumsy  machinery  of  a  whole  Cyclopcedia  at  work, 
grinding  that  nonsense  which  he  calls  "Useful  Knowledge?"  Let  the  poet 
mount  his  Pegasus,  or  his  Rosinante,  and  go  tilt  a  lance  against  the  doctor's 
windmill.  It  was  unworthv  of  him  to  turn  on  O'Brien,  after  the  intimacy  of  pri- 
vate correspondence  ;  and  if  lie  was  inclined  for  battle,  he  might  have  found  a 
seemlier  foe.  Surely  my  young  friend  was  not  the  quarry  on  which  the  vulture 
should  delight  to  pounce,  when  there  are  so  many  literary  reptiles  to  tempt  his 
beak  and  glut  his  maw  !  Heaven  knows,  there  is  fair  game  and  plentiful  carrion 
on  the  plains  of  Bo^otia.  In  the  poet's  picture  of  the  pursuits  of  a  royal  bird, 
we  find  such  sports  alluded  to — 

"  In  reluctantes  dracones 
Egit  amor  dapis  atque  pugnae." 

Let  Moore,  then,  vent  his  indignation  and  satiate  his  voracity  on  the  proper 
objects  of  a  volatile  of  prey ;  but  he  will  find  in  his  own  province  of  imagina- 
tive poetry  a  kindlier  element,  a  purer  atmosphere,  for  his  winged  excursions. 
Long,  long  may  we  behold  the  gorgeous  bird  soaring  through  the  regions  of 
inspiration,  distinguished  in  his  loftier  as  in  his  gentler  flights,  and  combining, 
by  a  singular  miracle  of  ornith  .logy,  the  voice  of  the  turtle-dove,  the  eagles 
eye  and  wing,  with  the  plumage  of  the  "bird  of  Paradise." 


Mf.m.— O/;  t/te  iZlh  of  June,  1835,  died,  at  the  Hermitage,  Hanwell,  "  Henry 
O'Brien,  author  of  the  Round  To7uers  of  Ireland."  His  portrait  was  hung  up 
in  the  Gallery  of  Rkgi.nw  on  the  ist  of  August  following  ;  and  the  functionary 
who  exhibits  the  "  Literary  Characters  "  dwelt  thus  on  his  merits  : 

In  the  village  graveyard  of  Hanwell  {ad  -■Hi.  nb  urhc  Lif>idcvi]  sleeps  the  original  of 
yonder  sketch,  and  the  rude  forefathers  of  the  Saxon  hamlet  have  consented  to  receive 
among  them  the  clay  of  a  Milesian  scholar.     That   "original"   was  no  stranger  to  us. 

'. ^  .^___ 


The  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore.  103 

Some  time  back  we  had  our  misgivings  that  the  oil  in  his  flickering  lamp  of  life  would 
soon  dry  up ;  still,  we  were  not  prepared  to  hear  of  his  light  being  thus  abruptly  extin- 
guished. "  One  morn  we  missed  him  "  from  the  accustomed  table  at  the  library'  of  the 
British  Museum,  where  the  page*  of  antiquity  awaited  his  perusal ;  "  another  came— nor 
yet"  was  he  to  be  seen  behind  the  pile  of  "Asiatic  Researches,"  poring  over  his 
favourite  Herodotus,  or  deep  in  the  Zendavesta.  "The  next"  brought  tidings  of  his 
death. 

"Au  banquet  de  la  \'ie,  infortime  convive, 

J'apparus  un  jour,  et  je  meurs  : 
Je  meurs,  et  sur  la  tombe  oh,  jeune  encor,  j'arrive 

Nul  ne  viendra  verser  des  pleurs." 

His  book  on  the  "'  Round  Towers  "  has  thrown  more  light  on  the  early  history'  of  Ireland, 
and  on  the  freemasonry  of  these  gigantic  puzzles,  than  will  ever  shine  from  the  cracked 
pitchers  of  the  "  Royal  Irish  Academy,"  or  the  farthing  candle  of  Tommy  INIoore.  And 
it  was  quite  natural  that  he  should  have  received  from  them,  during  his  lifetime,  such 
tokens  of  malignant  hostility  as  might  sufficiently  "  tell  how  they  hated  his  beams."  The 
"  Royal  Irish  '  twaddlers  must  surely  feel  some  compunction  now,  when  they  look  back 
on  their  paltr^"-  transactions  in  the  matter  of  the  "  prize  essay  ;  "  and  though  we  do  not 
expect  much  from  "  Tom  Bro\\x  the  younger,"  or  "  Tom  Little,"  the  author  of  sundrj'- 
Tomfudgeries  and  Tomfooleries,  still  it  would  not  surprise  us  if  he  now  felt 'the  necessity 
of  atoning  for  his  individual  misconduct  by  doing  appropriate  penance  in  a  white  sheet  or 
a  "  blue  and  yellow "  blanket  when  next  he  walks  abroad  in  that  rickety  go-cart  of 
drivelling  dotage,  the  Edinburgh  RcT'ieiu. 

While  Cicero  was  quaestor  in  Sicily,  he  discovered  in  the  suburbs  of  S\Tacu5e  the 
neglected  grave  of  Archimedes,  from  the  circumstance  of  a  symbolical  cylinder  indicat- 
ing the  pursuits  and  favourite  theories  of  the  illustrious  dead.  Great  was  his  joy  at  the 
recognition.  No  emblem  v.ill  mark  the  sequestered  spot  where  lies  the  CEdipus  of  the 
Round  Tower  riddle — no  hieroglyphic, 

"  Save  daisies  on  the  mould, 
WTiere  children  spell,  athwart  the  churchyard  gate. 
His  name  and  life's  brief  date." 

But  yt  who  wish  for  monuments  to  his  memor^',  go  to  his  native  land,  and  there — cir- 
cmnspicite  ! — Glendalough,  Devenish,  Clondalkin,  Inniscatterj-,  rear  their  architectural 
cylinders  ;  and  each,  through  those  mystic  apertures  that  face  the  cardinal  points,  pro- 
claims to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  trumpet-tongued,  the  name  of  him  who  solved  the 
problem  of  3,000  years,  and  who  first  disclosed  the  drift  of  these  erections  ! 
Fame,  in  the  Latin  poet's  celebrated  personification,  is  described  as  perched 

"  Sublimi  culmine  tecti, 
Turribus  aut  altis. " 

yEneid  II'. 

That  of  O'B.  is  pre-eminently  so  circumstanced.  From  these  proud  pinnacles  nothing 
can  dislodge  his  renown.  ^loore,  in  the  recent  pitiful  compilation  meant  for  "a  his- 
tory-," talks  of  these  monuments  as  being  so  many  "  astronomical  indexes."  He  might 
as  well  have  said  they  were  tubes  for  the  purposes  of  gastronomy.  'Tis  plain  /te  knew  as 
little  about  their  origin  as  he  may  be  supposed  to  know  of  the  "  Hanging  Tower  of 
Pisa,"  or  the  "  Torre  degli  Asinelii,"  or  how  the  nose  of  the  beloved  resembled  the  tower 
of  Damascus. 

Concerning  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  suffice  it  to  add  that  he  was  bom  in  the  kingdom 
of  Iveragh,  graduated  in  T.C.D.  (having  been  classically  "brought  up  at  the  feet  of" 
the  Rev.  Charles  Boyton) ;  and  fell  a  victim  here  to  the  intense  ardour  with  which  he 
pursued  the  antiquarian  researches  that  he  loved. 

"  Kerria  me  genuit ;  studia,  heu  !  rapuere  ;  tenet  nunc 
Anglia  :  sed  patriam  turrigeram  cecini." 

Regent  Steeet,  August  1,  1S35. 


104  ^-^^^   Woi'ks  of  Father  Front. 


VI. 

loiter utun  aitir  flje  |csuifs. 

{Frasers  Magazine,  September  1834.) 
— 0 — 

[This,  in  many  ways,  noble  evidence  of  Mahony's  gratitude  to  the  great  and  learned 
Order  to  the  fathers  of  which  he  owed  so  much  of  his  ripe  scholarship,  appeared  in  the 
number  of  Eraser  containing  the  portrait  of  the  Rev.  George  Robert  Gleig,  author  of 
"The  Subaltern,"  twelve  years  afterwards  appointed  Chaplain-General  of  the  Forces,  the 
clerical  novelist  as  portrayed  by  IVIaclise's  pencil,  hat  in  hand,  and  with  his  hands 
clasped  before  him,  all  but  walking  out  of  the  picture  as  we  examine  his  likeness. 
Rather  incongruously,  at  the  close  of  so  loyal  a  tribute  to  his  old  masters,  the  Jesuits, 
Mahony,  by  appending  to  it  his  version  of  Jean  Baptiste  Louis  Gresset's  wonderfully 
humorous  poem  of  "  \'ert-Vert,''  affords  Croquis'  wicked  pencil  the  opportunity  of 
introducing  as  a  tailpiece  to  it  in  the  1836  edition  his  profane  illustration  of  the  scare  in 
the  cloisters,  '"I'outes  pensent  etre  a  la  fin  du  monde."  Conspicuous,  by  the  way,  among 
the  finest  specimens  of  our  author's  graver  Latin  poetrj',  his  Ode  in  celebration  of  the 
Vigil  of  Saint  Ignatius  Loyola,  incidentally  given  in  this  sixth  of  the  Prout  Papers,  is 
entitled  to  the  reader's  closest  consideration.] 


"  Alii  spem  gentis  adultos 
Educunt  foetus  :  alii  purissima  mella 
Stipant,  et  liquido  distendunt  nectare  cellas." 

ViRG.  Georgic  II'. 

"Through  flower>'  paths 
Skill'd  to  guide  youth,  in  haunts  where  learning  dwells. 
They  fiU'd  with  honey'd  lore  their  cloister'd  cells." 

Prout. 

The  recent  massacre  by  a  brutal  populace  in  Madrid  of  fourteen  Jesuits,  in 
the  hall  of  their  college  of  St.  Isidoro,  has  drawn  somewhat  of  notice,  if  not 
of  sympathy,  to  this  sinjjular  order  of  literati,  whom  we  never  fail,  for  the  last 
three  hundred  years,  to  find  mi.xed  up  with  every  political  disturbance  There 
is  a  certain  species  of  bird  well  know^n  to  ornithologists,  but  better  still  to 
mariners,  which  is  sure  to  make  its  appearance  in  stormy  weather — so  con- 
stantly, indeed,  as  to  induce  among  the  sailors  (ditnnn  i^e/iiis)  a  belief  that  it  is 
///<r /c/Tc/ that  has  raised  the  tempest.  Leaving  this  knotty  point  to  be  settled 
by  Dr.  Lardner  in  his  "  Cyclopcedia,"  at  the  article  of  "Mother  Carey's 
Chickens,"  we  cannot  help  observing,  meantime,  that  since  the  days  of  the 
French  League  under  Henri  Trois,  to  the  late  final  expulsion  of  tlie  branchc 
ahire  (an  event  which  has  marked  the  commencement  of  Rkgina's  accession 
to.  the  throne  of  literature),  as  well  in  the  revolutions  of  Portugal  as  in  the 
vicissitudes  of  Venice,  in  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Xantz,  in  the  expulsion 
of  James  IL,  in  the  severance  of  the  Low  Countries  from  Spain,  in  the  invasion 
of  Africa  by  Don  Sebastian,  in  the  Scotch  Rebellion  of  '45,  in  the  conquest  of 


Literature  and  the  Jestiits.  •  105 

China  by  the  Tartars,  in  all  the  Irish  rebellions,  from  Father  Salmeron  in  1561, 
and  Father  Archer  (for  whom  see  "  Pacata  Hibernia"),  to  that  anotiyjmzis 
Jesuit  who  (according  to  Sir  Harcourt  Lees)  threw  the  bottle  at  the  Lord-Lieu- 
tenant in  the  Dublin  Theatre  some  years  ago, — there  is  always  one  of  this  ill- 
fated  society  found  in  the  thick  of  the  confusion — 

"And  whether  for  good,  or  whether  for  ill, 
It  is  not  mine  to  say  ; 
But  still  to  the  house  of  Amundevilie 
He  abideth  night  and  day  ! 

When  an  heir  is  born,  he  is  heard  to  mourn. 

And  when  ought  is  to  befall 
That  ancient  line,  in  the  pale  Jiioonshine 

He  walks  from  hall  to  hall." 

Byrox. 

However,  notwithstanding  the  various  and  manifold  commotions  which 
these  Jesuits  have  confessedly  kicked  up  in  the  kingdoms  of  Europe  and  the 
commonwealth  of  Christendom,  we,  Oliver  Yorke,  must  admit  that  they  have 
not  deserved  ill  of  the  Republic  of  Letters  ;  and  therefore  do  we  decidedly  set 
our  face  against  the  Madrid  process  of  knocking  out  their  brains  ;  for,  in  our 
view  of  things,  the  pineal  gland  and  the  cerebellum  are  not  kept  in  such  a 
high  state  of  cultivation  in  Spain  as  to  render  superfluous  a  few  colleges  and 
professors  of  the  litercc  huinaniores.  George  Knapp,  the  vigilant  mayor  of 
Cork,  was,  no  doubt,  greatly  to  be  applauded  for  demolishing  with  his  civic 
club  the  mad  dogs  which  invested  his  native  town  ;  and  he  would  have  won 
immortal  laurels  if  he  had  furthermore  cleared  that  beautiful  city  of  the  idlers, 
gossips,  and  cynics,  who  therein  abound ;  but  it  was  a  great  mistake  of  the 
Madrid  folks  to  apply  the  club  to  the  learned  skulls  of  the  few  literati  they 
possessed.  We  are  inclined  to  think  (though  full  of  respect  for  Robert 
Southey's  opinion)  that,  after  all,  Roderick  was  not  the  last  of  the  Goths  in 
Spain. 

When  the  Cossacks  got  into  Paris  in  1814,  their  first  exploit  was  to  eat  up  all 
the  tallow-candles  of  the  conquered  metropolis,  and  to  drink  the  train  oil  out 
of  the  lamps,  so  as  to  leave  the  "Boulevards"  in  Cimmerian  darkness.  By 
murdering  the  schoolmasters,  it  would  seem  that  the  partisans  of  Queen 
Christina  would  have  no  great  objection  to  a  similar  municipal  arrangement 
for  Madrid.  But  all  this  is  a  matter  of  national  taste  ;  and  as  our  gracious 
Regixa  is  no  party  to  "the  quadruple  alliance,"  she  has  determined  to  adhere 
to  her  fixed  system  of  non-intervention. 

Meantime  the  pubUc  will  peruse  with  some  curiosity  a  paper  from  Father 
Prout,  concerning  his  old  masters  in  literature.  We  suspect  that  on  this 
occasion  sentimental  gratitude  has  begotten  a  sort  of  "drop  serene"  in  his 
eye,  for  he  only  winks  at  the  rogueries  of  the  Jesuits;  nor  does  he  redden  for 
them  the  gridiron  on  which  he  gently  roasts  Dr.  Lardner  and  Tom  Moore. 
But  the  great  merit  of  the  essay  is,  that  the  composer  evidently  had  opportunities 
of  a  thorough  knowledge  of  his  subject — a  matter  of  rare  occurrence,  and 
therefore  quite  refreshing.  He  appears,  indeed,  to  be  fully  aware  of  his  van- 
tage-ground :  hence  the  tone  of  confidence,  and  the  firm,  unhesitating  tenour 
of  his  assertions.  This  is  what  we  like  to  see.  A  chancellor  of  England  who 
rarely  got  drunk,  Sir  Thomas  More,  has  left  this  bit  of  advice  to  folks  in 
general : 

Wise  men  alwaye 
affirme  and  say 

that  tis  best  for  a  man 
diligently 
for  to  apply 

to  the  business  he  can. 


io6  The   Works  of  FatJier  Prout. 

and  in  no  wyse 
to  enterprise 

another  facultie. 
A  simple  hatter 
should  not  go  smatter 

ill  philosophie  ; 
nor  ought  a  peddlar 
become  a  meddlar 

in  theologie.* 

Acting  on  this  principle,  how  gladly  would  we  open  our  columns  to  a  treatise 
by  our  particular  friend,  Marie  Taglioni,  on  the  philosophy  oi  hops ! — how 
cheerfully  would  we  welcome  an  essay  on  heavy  ivci  from  the  pen  of  Dr. 
Wade,  or  of  Jack  Reeve,  or  any  other  similarly  qualified  Chevalier  de  Make  ! 
We  should  not  object  to  a  tract  on  gin  from  Charley  Pearson  ;  nor  would  we 
exclude  Lord  Althorp's  thick  notions  on  "Jlmnmery,"  or  Lord  Brougham's 
XXX.  ideas  on  that  mild  alcohol  which,  for  the  sake  of  peace  and  quietness, 
we  shall  call  " /m."  Who  would  not  listen  with  attention  to  Irving  on  a 
matter  of  "  unknown  tongues,"  or  to  O'Brien  on  "  Round  Towers?"  Verily 
it  belongeth  to  old  Benjamin  Franklin  to  write  scientifically  on  xheparatonnere; 
and  his  contemporary,  Talleyrand,  has  a  paramount  claim  to  lecture  on  the 
zueaiher-cock.  > 

"  Sumite  materiam  vestris  qui  scribitis  aequam 
Viribus." 

Turning  finally  to  thee,  O  Prout !  truly  great  was  thy  love  of  frolic,  but  still 
more  remarkable  thy  wisdom.  Thou  wert  a  most  rare  combination  of  Socrates 
and  Sancho  Panza,  of  Scarron  and  the  venerable  Bede  !  What  would  we  not 
have  given  to  have  cracked  a  bottle  with  thee  in  thy  hut  on  Watergrasshill, 
partaking  of  thy  hospitable  "  herring,"  and  imbibing  thy  deep  flood  of  know- 
ledge with  the  plenitude  of  thy  "Medoc?"  Nothing  gloomy,  narrow,  or 
Pharisaical,  ever  entered  into  thy  composition — "  In  wit,  a  man  ;  simplicity,  a 
child."  The  wrinkled  brow  of  antiquity  softened  into  smiles  for  thee ;  and  the 
Muses  must  have  marked  thee  in  thy  cradle  for  their  own.  Such  is  the  per- 
fume that  breathes  from  thy  chest  of  posthumous  elucubrations,  conveying  a 
sweet  fragrance  to  the  keen  nostrils  of  criticism,  and  recalling  the  funeral 
oration  of  the  old  woman  in  Photdrus  over  her  emptied  flagon — 

"  O  suavis  anima  !  quale  te  dicam  bonum 
Antehiic  fuisse,  tales  cum  sint  reliquise." 

OLIVER   YORKE. 
Regent  Street,  zsi  Sept.  1S34. 


W.A.TERGRASSHILI.,  Dec.  1S33. 

About  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  centur}',    after  the  vigorous  arm  of  an 
Augustinian  monk  had  sounded  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  that  loud  tocsin  of 

*  See  this  e.vcellent  didactic  poem  printed  at  length  in  the  elaborate  preface  to  Dr. 
Johnson's  Dictionary.  fMahony  should  rather  have  said  in  the  sequel  to  the  famous 
preface  entitled  "The  History'  of  the  English  Language."]  It  is  entitled  "A  merrie 
Jest,  how  a  Sarjeant  would  learn  to  play  y"  Frere  ;  by  Maister  Thomas  More,  in  hys 
youthe."     [The  last  six  lines  as  printed  by  the  Doctor  run — 

Whan  an  hatter 
Wyll  go  smatter 

In  philosophy. 
Or  a  pedlar 
\\'arc  a  medlar 

In  theology.] 


Literature  and  the  Je'sints.  ■  107 

reform  that  found  such  responsive  echo  among  the  Gothic  steeples  of  Germany, 
there  arose  in  southern  Europe,  as  if  to  meet  the  exigency  of  the  time,  a  body 
of  popish  men,  who  have  been  called  ^assuredlyby  no  friendly  nomenclator) 
the  Janissaries  of  the  Vatican.  Professor  Robertson,  in  his  admirable  "  His- 
tory of  Charles  V.,"  introduces  a  special  episode  concerning  the  said  "janis- 
saries ;  "  and,  sinking  for  a  time  the  atlairs  of  the  belligerent  continent,  turns 
his  grave  attention  to  the  operations  of  the  children  of  Loyola.  The  essay 
forms  an  agreeable  interlude  in  the  melodrama  of  contemporary  warfare,  and 
is  exquisitely  adapted  to  the  purpose  of  the  professor  ;  whose  object  was,  I 
presume,  to  furnish  his  readers  with  a  light  divertimento.  For  surely  and 
soberly  {pace  tauti  viri  dixerim)  he  did  not  expect  that  his  theories  on  the 
origin,  development,  and  mysterious  organization  of  that  celebrated  society 
would  pass  current  witli  any  save  the  uninitiated  and  the  profane  ;  nor  did  he 
ever  contemplate  ihs  adoption  of  his  speculations  by  any  but  the  careless  and 
unreflecting  portion  of  mankind.  It  was  a  capital  peg  on  which  to  h.ang  the 
flimsy  mantle  of  a  superficial  philosophy  ;  it  was  a  pleasant  race-ground  over 
W'hich  to  canter  on  the  gentle  back  of  a  metaphysical  hobby-horse  :  but  what 
could  a  Freibyterian  ol  Edinburgh,  even  though  a  pillar  of  the  kirk,  know 
about  the  inmost  and  most  recondite  workings  of  Catholic  freemasonry? 
What  could  he  tell  of  Jerusalem,  he  being  a  Samaritan?  Truly,  friend 
Robertson,  Father  Front  would  have  taken  the  liberty,  had  he  been  in  the 
historical  worksliop  where  thou  didst  indite  that  ilk,  of  acting  the  unceremonious 
part  of  "  Cynthius  "  m  the  eclogue  : 

"Aurem 
Veliit  et  admonuit,  '  Pastorem,  Tityre,  pingues 
Pascere  oportet  oves,  deductum  dicere  carmen.'  " 

What  could  have  possessed  the  professor?  Did  he  ever  go  through  the 
course  of  "  spiritual  exercises  f"  Did  he  ever  eat  a  peck  of  salt  with  Loyola's 
intellectual  and  highly  disciplined  sons?  "Had  he  ever  ma?ii/ested  his  con- 
science f"  Did  his  venturous  foot  ever  cross  the  threshold  of  the  Jesuitical 
sanctuary?  Was  he  deeply  versed  in  the  "ratio  sttidiornifif"  Had  his  ear 
ever  drank  the  mystic  whisperings  of  the  ynotiita  sccreta  ?  No  !  Then  w  hy  the 
deuce  did  he  sit  down  to  write  about  the  Jesuits?  Had  he  not  the  Brahmins 
of  India  at  his  service  ?  Could  he  not  take  up  the  dervishes  of  Persia?  or  the 
bonzes  of  Japan?  or  the  illustrious  brotherhood  of  Bohemian  gipsies  ?  or  the 
"ancient  order  of  Druids"?  or  all  of  them  together?  But,  in  the  name  of 
Cornehus  a  Lapide,  why  did  he  undertake  to  write  about  the  Jesuits? 

I  am  the  more  surprised  at  the  learned  historian's  thus  indulging  in  the 
Homeric  luxury  of  a  transient  nap,  as  he  generally  is  broad  awake,  and  scans 
with  scrutinizing  eye  the  doings  of  his  fellow-men  through  several  centuries  of 
interest.  To  talk  about  matters  of  w  hich  he  must  necessarily  be  ignorant,  never 
occurs  (except  in  this  case)  to  his  comprehensive  habit  of  thought  :  and  it  was 
reserved  for  modern  days  to  produce  that  school  of  writers  who  industriously 
employ  their  pens  on  topics  the  most  e.xalted  above  their  range  of  mind,  and 
the  least  adapted  to  their  powers  of  illustration.  The  more  ignorance,  the 
more  audacity.  "  Prince  Puckler  Muskaw  "  and  "  Lady  Morgan"  furnish  the 
beau  iddal  of  this  class  of  scribblers.  Let  them  get  but  a  peep  at  the  "  toe  of 
Hercules,"  and  they  will  produce  forthwith  an  accurate  mezzotinto  drawing  of 
his  entire  godship.  Let  them  get  a  footing  in  any  country  in  the  habitable  globe 
for  twenty-four  hours,  and  their  volume  of  "  France,"  "  England,"  "  Italy,"  or 
"  Belgium  "  is  ready  for  the  press. 

"  Ch  give  but  a  glance,  let  a  vista  but  gleam, 
Of  any  given  co7intry,  and  mark  how  they'll  feel  I" 

It  is  not  necessary  that  they  should  know  the  common  idiom  of  the  natives, 


io8  The    Works  of  FatJicr  Front. 

or  even  their  own  language  grammatically  ;  for  Lady  Morgan  (aforesaid)  stands 
convicted,  in  her  printed  rhapsodies,  cf  being  very  little  acquainted  with  French, 
and  not  at  all  with  Italian  :  while  her  English,  of  which  every  one  can  judge, 
is  poor  enough.  The  Austrian  authorities  shut  the  gates  of  Germany  against 
her  impostures,  not  relishing  the  idea  of  such  audacious  humbug  :  in  truth, 
whftt  could  she  have  done  at  Vienna,  not  knowing  German  ;  though  perhaps 
her  obstetric  spouse.  Sir  Charles,  can  play  on  the  German  flute  ? 

"  Lasciami  por'  nella  terra  il  piede 
E  vider'  questi  inconosciuti  lidi, 
Vider'  le  gente,  e  il  colto  di  lor  fede, 
E  tutto  quello  onde  uom  saggio  m'  invidi, 
Quando  mi  giovera  narrare  altrui 
Le  novitu  vedute,  e  dire,  '  io/ui  ! ' 

Tasso,  Gents.  Lib.  cant.  15,  st.  38. 

There  is  in  the  county  of  Kildare  a  veritable  Jesuits'  college  (of  whose  exist- 
ence Sir  Harcourt  Lees  is  well  satisfied,  having  often  denounced  it) :  it  is  called 
"  Clongowes  Wood;"  and  even  the  sacred  "  Groves  of  Blarney  "  do  not  so 
well  deserve  the  honours  of  a  pilgrimage  as  this  haunt  of  classic  leisure  and 
studious  retirement.  Now  Lady  Mo'-gan  wanted  to  explore  the  learned  cave  of 
these  literary  coenobites,  and  no  doubt  would  have  written  a  book,  entitled 
"Jesuitism  in  all  its  Branches,"  on  her  return  to  Dublin;  but  the  sons  of 
Loyola  smelt  a  rat,  and  acted  on  the  principle  inculcated  in  the  legend  of  St. 
Senanus  (Colgan.  Acta  SS.  Hyb.) : 

"Quid  foeminis 
Commune  est  cum  monachis? 
Nee  te  nee  ullam  aliam 
Admittamus  in  insulam." 

For  which  Front's  blessing  on  'em  !    Amen. 

In  glaring  contrast  and  striking  opposition  to  this  system  of  forwardness  and 
effrontery  practised  by  the  "lady"  and  the  "prince,"  stands  the  exemplary 
conduct  of  Denny  MuUins.  Denny  is  a  patriot  and  a  breeches-maker  in  the 
town  of  Cork,  the  oracle  of  the  "  Chamber  of  Commerce,"  and  looked  up  to 
with  great  reverence  by  the  radicals  and  saus  culottes  who  swarm  in  that  beau- 
tiful city.  The  excellence  of  his  leather  hunting  unmentionables  is  admitted  by 
the  Mac-room  fox-hunters ;  while  his  leather  gaiters  and  his  other  straps  are 
approved  of  by  John  Cotter  of  the  branch  bank  of  Ireland.  But  this  is  a  mere 
parenthesis.  Now  when  the  boys  in  the  Morea  were  kicking  against  the  Sub- 
lime Porte,  to  the  great  deligiit  of  Joe  Hume  and  other  Corinthians,  a  grand 
political  dinner  occurred  in  the  beautiful  capital  of  Munster  ;  at  which,  after 
the  usual  flummery  about  Marathon  and  the  Peloponnesus,  the  health  of  Prince 
Ypsilanti  and  "  Success  to  the  Greeks  "  was  given  from  the  chair.  There  was 
a  general  call  for  Mullins  to  speak  on  this  toast;  tliougli  why //<?  should  be 
selected  none  could  tell,  unless  for  the  reason  which  caused  the  Athenians  to 
banish  Aristidcs,  viz.  his  being  "too  honest."  Denny  rose  and  rebuked  their 
waggery  by  protesting,  that,  "  though  he  was  a  plain  man,  lie  could  always  give 
a  reason  for  what  he  was  about.  As  to  the  modern  Greeks,  he  would  think 
twice  before  he  either  trusted  them  or  refused  them  credit.  He  knew  little  about 
their  forefatiiers,  except  what  he  had  read  in  an  author  called  Pope's  '  Homer,' 
who  says  tiiey  were  '  well-gaitered  ;'  and  he  had  learned  to  respect  tliei?!.  But 
latterly,  to  call  a  man  a  '  Greek  '  was,  in  his  experience  of  the  world,  as  bad  as 
to  call  liim  'n  Jesuit ;'  tliough,  in  both  cases,  few  people  had  ever  any  personal 
knowledge  of  a  ;ra/ Jesuit  or  a  bona  fide  Grecian."  Such  was  the  wisdom  of 
the  Aristidcs  of  Cork. 

Nevfjrtheless,  it  is  not  my  intention  to  enter  on  tlie  debatable  ground  of  "  the 
order's"  moral  or  political  character.    Cerutti,  the  secretary  of  Mirabeau  (whose 


Literature  and  the  Jesiuts.  109 

funeral  oration  he  was  chosen  to  pronounce  in  the  church  of  St.  Eustache,  April 
4,  1791),  has  written  most  eloquently  on  that  topic  ;  and  in  the  whole  range  of 
French  polemics  I  know  nothing  so  full  of  manly  logic  and  genuine  energy  of 
style  as  his  celebrated  "  Apologie  des  Jesuites"  (8vo.  Soleure,  1778).  He  after- 
wards conducted,  with  Rahaud  St.  Etienne,  that  firebrand  newspaper,  LaFeuille 
Villageoise,  in  which  there  was  red-hot  enthusiasm  enough  to  get  all  the  choteaiix 
round  Paris  burnt  :  but  the  work  of  his  youth  remains  an  imperishable  perform- 
ance. My  object  is  simply  to  consider  "  the  Jesuits  "  in  connection  with  litcra- 
Uire.  None  would  be  more  opposed  than  I  to  the  introduction  of  polemics 
into  the  domain  of  the  "  belles  left  res,"  or  to  let  angry  disputation  find  its  way 
into  the  peaceful  vale  of  Tempe, 

"  Pour  changer  en  champ-clos  rharmonieux  vallon  I  " 

MiLLEVOYE. 

The  precincts  of  Parnassus  form  a  "city  of  refuge,"  where  political  and 
religious  differences  can  have  no  access,  where  the  angry  passions  subside,  and 
the  wicked  cease  from  troubling.  Wherefore  to  the  devil,  its  inventor,  I  be- 
queath the  Gunpowder  Plot;  and  I  shall  not  attempt  to  rake  up  the  bones  of 
Guy  Faux,  or  disturb  the  ashes  of  Doctor  Titus  : — not  that  Titus,  "  the  delight 
of  the  human  race,"  wlio  considered  a  day  as  lost  when  not  signalized  by  some 
benefaction  ;  but  Titus  Gates,  who  could  not  sleep  quiet  on  his  pillow  at  night 
unless  he  had  hanged  a  Jesuit  in  the  morn-ng. 

I  have  often  in  the  course  of  these  papers  introduced  quotations  from  the 
works  of  the  Jesuit  Gresset,  the  kind  and  enlightened  friend  of  my  early  years; 
and  to  that  pure  fountain  of  the  most  limpid  poetry  of  France  I  shall  again 
have  occasion  to  return  :  but  nothing  more  evinces  the  sterling  e.xcellence  of 
this  illustrious  poet's  mind  than  his  conduct  towards  the  "order,"  of  which  he 
had  been  an  ornament  until  matters  connected  with  the  press  caused  his  with- 
drawal from  that  society.  His  "  Adieux  aux  Jesuites  "  are  on  record,  and 
deserve  the  admiration  which  they  excited  at  that  period.  A  single  passage  will 
indicate  the  spirit  of  this  celebrated  composition  : 

"  Je  dols  tous  mes  regrets  aux  sages  que  je  quitte  ! 
J'en  perds  avec  douleur  I'entretien  vertueu.x  ; 
Et  si  dans  leurs  foyers  desormais  je  n'habite, 

I\Ion  ccEur  me  survit  aupres  d'eux. 
Car  ne  les  crois  point  tels  que  2a  main  de  I'envie 

Les  peint  a  des  yeux  prevenus  : 
Si  tu  ne  les  connais  que  sur  ce  qu'en  publie 
La  tenebreuse  calomnie, 
lis  te  sont  encore  inconnus  !" 

To  the  sages  I  leave  here's  a  heartfelt  farewell  ! 
'Twas  a  blessing  within  their  loved  cloisters  to  dwell, 

And  my  dearest  affections  shall  cling  round  them  still : 
Full  gladly  I  mix'd  their  blessed  circles  among. 
And  oh  1  heed  not  the  whisper  of  Envy's  foul  tongue  ; 

If  you  list  but  to  her,  3-011  must  know  them  but  ill. 

But  to  come  at  once  to  the  pith  and  s^.bstance  of  the  present  inquiry,  viz. 
the  influence  of  the  Jesuits  on  the  belles  lettres.  It  is  one  of  the  striking  facts 
v,e  meet  with  in  tracing  the  histor\-  of  this  "order,"  and  which  D'Israeli  may 
do  well  to  insert  in  the  next  edition  of  his  "Curiosities  of  Literature,"  that 
the  founder  of  the  most  learned,  and  by  far  the  most  distinguished  literary 
corporation  that  ever  arose  in  the  world,  was  an  old  soldier  who  took  up  his 
"Latin  Grammar"  when  past  the  age  of  thirty;  at  which  time  of  life  Don 
Ignacio  de  Loyola  had  his  leg  shattered  by  an  eighteen-pounder,  while 
defending  the  citadel  of  Pampeluna  against  the  French.  The  knowledge  of 
this  interesting  truth  may  encotirage  the  great  captain  of  the  age,  whom  I  do 
not  yet  despair  of  beholding  in  a  new  capacity,  covering  his  laurelled  brow 


no 


TJie  Works  of  FatJicr  Front. 


with  a  doctor's  cap,  and  filling  the  chancellor's  chair  to  the  great  joy  of  the 
public  and  the  special  delight  of  Oxford.  1  have  seen  more  improbable 
events  than  this  take  place  in  my  experience  of  the  world.  Be  tliat  as  it 
may,  this  lieutenant  in  the  Cacidores  of  his  imperial  majesty  Charles  V., 
called  into  existence  by  the  vigour  of  his  mind  a-  race  of  highly  educated 
followers.  He  was  the  parent-stock  (or,  if  you  will,  the  primitive  block) 
from  which  so  many  illustrious  chips  were  hewn  during  the  XVIIth  century. 
If  he  had  not  intellect  for  his  own  portion,  he  most  undeniably  created  it 
around  him  :  he  gathered  to  his  standard  men  of  genius  and  ardent  spirits;  he 
knew  how  to  turn  their  talents  to  the  best  advantage  (no  ordinary  knowledge), 
and,  like  Archimedes  at  Syracuse,  by  the  juxtaposition  of  reflectors,  and  the 
skilful  combination  of  mirrors,  so  as  to  converge  into  a  focus  and  c&scentrate 
the  borrowed  rays  of  the  sun,  he  contrived  to  damage  the  enemy's  fleet  and 
fire  the  galleys  of  Marcellus.  Other  founders  of  monastic  orders  enlisted  the 
prejudices,  the  outward  senses,  and  not  unfrequently  the  fanaticism  of  man- 
kind ;  their  appeal  was  to  that  love  for  the  marvellous  inherent  to  the  human 
breast,  and  that  latent  pride  which  lurked  long  ago  under  the  torn  blanket  of 
Diogenes,  and  which  would  have  tempted  Alexander  to  set  up  a  rival  tub. 
But  Loyola's  quarry  was  the  cultivated  mind ;  and  he  scorned  to  work  his 
purpose  'oy  any  meaner  instrumentality.  When  in  the  romantic  hermitage  of 
our  Lady  of  Montserrat  he  suspended'  for  ever  over  the  altar  his  helmet  and 
his  sword,  and  in  the  spirit  of  mo5t  exalted  chivalry  resolved  to  devote  him- 
self to  holier  pursuits— one  eagle  glance  at  the  state  of  Europe,  just  fresh 
from  the  revival  of -letters  under  Leo  X.,  taught  him  how  and  with  what 
weapons  to  encounter  the  re'uel  Augustinian  monk,  and  check  the  pro- 
gress of  disaffection.  A  short  poem  by  an  old  schoolfellow  of  mine,  who 
entered  the  order  in  1754.  and  d:ed  a  missionary  in  Cochin  China,  may 
illustrate  these  views.  The  Latin  shows  excellent  scholarship;  and  my  attempt 
at  translation  can  give  but  a  feeble  idea  of  the  original. 

PERVIGILIUM   LOVOL.E     DON  IGNACIO  LOYOLA'S  VIGIL 


In  Marice  Sacello,  1522. 

Cum  bellicosus  Cantaber  fe  tholo 
Suspendit  ensem,  "  Non  ego  higubri 
Defuncta  bello,"  dixit,  "arma 
Degcner  aut  timidus  perire 

Miles  resigno.     Me  nova  buccina. 
Me  non  profani  tessera  praelii 
Deposcit  ;  et  sacias  secutiis 
Auspicio  meliore  paries, 

Non  indecorus  transfuga,  glorits 
Si^^nis  relictis,  nil  cupientiuin 
Siiccedo  castris,  jam  futurui 
Splendidior  sine  clade  victor. 

Domare  mentes,  stringere  fervidls 
Sacro  catenis  i.ngenii  m  thruno, 
Et  cimcta  terrarum  suba.ta 
Corda  Deo  dare  gestit  ardor  : 

Traudis  magistros  artibus  acmuli^ 
Deprailiando  sternere  ;  sed  m.igis 
Loyola  Luthcri  triumphos 
Orbe  novo  reparabit  ultur  I  " 

Tellus  gigantis  sentit  iter  :  .simul 
Idola  nittant,  fana  ruunt,  micut 
Christ!  triumphantis  tropha;'.un. 
Cru.xque  novos  numeral  clit-ntes. 


I;i  tJie  Chapel  of  otir  Lady  of  Montserrat. 

\\'hen  at  thy  shrine,  most  holy  maid  ! 
The  Spaniard  hung  his  votive  blade, 

And  bared  his  helmed  brow — 
Not  that  he  fear'd  war's  visage  grim, 
Or  that  the  battle-field  for  him 

Had  aught  to  daunt,  I  trow  ; 

"  QAory  !"  he  cried,  "with  thee  I've  done  ! 
Fame  !  thy  bright  theatres  I  shun, 

To  tread  fresh  pathways  now  : 
To  track  thy  footsteps.  Saviour  God  I 
With  throbbing  heart,  with  feet  unshod  : 

Hear  and  record  ray  vow. 

Yes,  Thou  shah  reign  !   Chain'd  to  thy  throne, 
The  mind  of  man  thy  sway  shall  own. 

And  to  its  conqueror  bow. 
Genius  his  lyre  to  Thee  shall  lift. 
And  intellect  its  choicest  gift 

Proudly  on  Thee  bestow." 

Straight  on  the  marble  floor  he  knelt. 
And  in  his  breast  exulting  felt 

A  vivid  furnace  glow  ; 
Forth  to  his  task  ilie  giant  sped, 
Earth  slio  )k  abroad  beneath  his  tread, 

And  idols  were  laid  low. 


I 


Literature  and  the  Jesidts.  ill 


Videre  gentes  Xaverii  yxx^zx  India  repair'd  half  Europe's  loss  ; 

Igni  corusco  nubila  dividens  :  O'er  a  new  hemisphere  the  Cross 

Coepitque  mirans  Christianos  Shone  in  the  azure  sky  ; 

Per  medios  fmitare  Ganges.  And,  from  the  isles  of  far  Japan 

To  the  broad  Andes,  won  o'er  man 
A  bloodless  victory  ! 

Professor  Robertson  gravely  opines  that  Ignatius  was  a  mere  fanatic,  who 
never  contemplated  the  subsequent  glories  of  his  order  ;  and  that,  were  he  to 
have  revisited  the  earth  a  century  after  his  decease,  when  his  institute  was 
making  such  a  noise  in  the  world,  he  would  have  started  back, 

"  Scared  at  the  sound  himself  had  made." 

Never  did  the  historian  adopt  a  more  egregiotis  blunder.  Had  he  had  leisure 
or  patience  to  con  over  the  original  code,  called  Institutvm  Soc.  Jesv,  he 
would  have  found  in  every  paragraph  of  that  profound  and  crafty  volume  the 
germs  of  wondrous  future  development ;  he  would  have  discovered  the  long- 
hidden  but  most  precious  "  soul  of  the  licentiate  Garcias  "  under  the  inscription 
that  adorns  the  title-page.  Yes,  the  mind  of  Loyola  hes  embalmed  in  the 
leaves  of  that  mystic  tome ;  and  the  ark  of  cedar-wood,  borne  by  the  children 
of  Israel  along  the  sands  of  the  desert,  was  not  more  essential  to  their  happy 
progress  unto  the  land  of  promise  than  that  grand  depository  of  the  founder's 
wisdom  was  to  the  march  of  intellect  among  the  Jesuits. 

Before  his  death,  this  old  veteran  of  Charles  \'.,  this  illiterate  lieutenant, 
this  crippled  Spaniard  from  the  "imminent  and  deadly  breach  "  of  Pampe- 
luna  (for  he  too  was  lame,  like  Tyrtaius,  Talleyrand,  Lord  Byron,  Sir  W. 
Scott,  Tamerlane,  and  Appius  Claudius),  had  the  satisfaction  of  counting 
twelve  "provinces"  of  his  order  established  in  Europe,  Asia,  Brazils,  and 
Ethiopia.  The  members  of  the  society  amounted  at  that  epoch  (31st  July, 
1556),  sixteen  years  after  its  foundation,  to  seven  thousand  educated  men. 
Upwards  of  one  hundred  colleges  had  been  opened.  Xavier  had  blown 
the  trumpet  of  the  Gospel  over  India ;  BobadiUa  had  made  a  noise  in 
Germany ;  Caspar  Xunes  had  gone  to  Eg}'pt  ;  Alphonso  Salmeron  to  Ireland. 
Meantime  the  schools  of  the  new  professors  were  attracting,  in  every  part  of 
Europe,  crowds  of  eager  pupils:  industry  and -zeal  were  reaping  their  best 
reward  in  the  visible  progress  of  religion  as  well  as  literature  : 

"  Fer\-et  opus,  redolentque  thymo  fragrantia  mella  !  " 

At  the  suppression  of  the  order,  it  numbered  within  a  fraction  of  twenty 
thousand  well-trained,  well-disciplined,  and  well-taught  members. 

There  is  an  instinct  in  great  minds  that  teils  them  of  their  sublime 
destinies,  and  gives  them  secret  but  certain  warning  of  their  ultimate  gran- 
deur :  like  Brutus,  they  have  seen  a  spirit  of  prophetic  import,  whether  for 
good  or  evil,  who  will  meet  them  at  Philippi  :  like  Plato,  they  keep  correspon- 
dence with  a  familiar  oui/jliov  :  like  Napoleon,  they  read  their  meridian  glories 
of  successful  warfare  in  the  morning  sun;  — sure  as  fate,  Loyola  saw  the  future 
la'urels  of  his  order,  and  placed  full  reliance  on  the  anticipated  energy  of  his 
followers  yet  unborn  :  the  same  reliance  which  that  giant  fowl  of  Arabia,  the 
ostrich,  must  entertain,  when,  depositing  its  monstrous  egg  on  the  sands,  it 
departs  for  ever,  leaving  to  the  god  of  day  the  care  of  hatching  into  hfe  its 
vigorous  you  II  g. 

Industr}',  untiring  ardour,  immortal  energv  were  the  characteristics  of  these 
learned  enthusiasts.  Some  cleared  away  the  accumulated  rubbish  of  the 
friars,  their  ignorant  predecessors  ;  and  these  were  the  pioneers  of  literature. 
Some  gave  editions  of  the  Fathers  or  the  Classics,  hitherto  pent  up  in  the 
womb  of  MS. ;  these  were  the  accoucheurs  of  knowledge.  Others,  for  the 
use  of  schools,  carefully  expurgated  the  received  authors  of  antiquity,    and 


P 


112  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 

suppressed  every  prurient  passage,  performing,  in  usiim  Delphini,  a  very 
meritorious  task.  .  I  need  not  say  to  what  class  of  operators  in  surgery  thcsr. 
worthy  fathers  belonged.  Some  wrote  "commentaries'"  on  Scripture,  which 
Junius  undervalues  ;  but  with  all  his  acquirements,  I  would  sooner  take  the 
guidance  of  Cornelius  h  Lapide  in  matters  of  theology.  Finally,  some  wrote 
original  works  ;  and  the  shelves  of  every  European  library  groan  under  the 
folios  of  the  Jesuits. 

There  is  not,  perhaps,  a  more  instructive  and  interesting  subject  of  inquirv 
in  the  history  of  the  human  mind  than  the  origin,  progress,  and  workmgs  of 
what  are  called  monastic  institutions.  It  is  a  matter  on  which  I  have  bestowed 
not  a  little  thought,  and  I  may  one  day  plunge  into  the  depths  thereof  in  a 
special  dissertation.  But  I  cannot  help  adverting  here  to  some  causes  that 
raised  the  order  of  the  Jesuits  so  far  above  all  the  numerous  and  fantastical 
fraternities  to  which  the  middle  ages  had  previously  given  birth.  Loyola  saw 
the  vile  abuses  which  had  crept  into  these  institutions,  and  had  the  sagacity  to 
eschew  the  blunders  of  his  predecessors.  Idleness  was  the  most  glaring  evil 
under  which  monks  and  friars  laboured  in  those  days  ;  and  hence  incessant 
activity  was  the  watchword  of  his  sons.  The  rules  of  other  "  orders  "  begot  a 
grovelling  and  vulgar  debasement  of  mind,  and  were  calculated  to  mar  and 
cripple  the  energies  of  genius,  if  it  ever  happened  exceptionally  to  lurk  under 
"  the  weeds  of  P>ancis  or  of  Dominick  :"  but  all  the  regulations  of  the  Jesuits 
had  a  tendency  to  develop  the  aspirings  of  intellect,  and  to  expand  the  scope 
and  widen  the  career  of  talent.  The  system  of  mendicancy  adopted  by  each 
holy  brotherhood  as  the  ground-work  of  its  operations,  did  not  strike  Loyola 
as  much  calculated  to  give  dignity  or  manliness  to  the  human  character;  hence 
he  left  his  elder  brethren  in  quiet  possession  of  that  interesting  department. 
When  cities,  provinces,  or  kings  founded  a  Jesuits'  college,  they  were  sure  of 
getting  value  in  return;  hence  most  of  their  collegiate  halls  were  truly  magnifi- 
cent, and  they  ought  to  have  been  so.  When  of  old  a  prince  wished  to 
engage  Zeno  as  tutor  to  his  son,  and  sought  to  lower  the  terms  of  the 
philosopher  by  stating,  that  with  such  a  sum  he  could  purchase  a  slave,  "  Do 
so,  by  all  means,  and  you  will  have  a  pair  of  them,"  was  the  pithy  reply  of 
the  indignant  Stoic. 

I  do  not  undervalue  the  real  services  of  some  "  orders  "  of  earlier  institu- 
tion. I  have  visited  with  feelings  of  deep  respect  the  gorgeous  cradle  of  the 
Benedictine  institute  at  Monte  Cassino ;  and  no  traveller  has  explored  Italy's 
proud  monuments  of  Roman  grandeur  with  more  awe  than  I  did  that 
splendid  creation  of  laborious  and  persevering  men.  I  have  seen  with  less 
pleasure  the  wr -k  of  Bruno,  la  Grande  Chartreuse,  near  Grenoble;  he 
excluded  learning  from  the  solitude  to  which  he  drew  his  followers  :  but  1 
have  hailed  with  enthusiasm  the  sons  of  Bernard  on  the  Alps  ministering  to 
the  wants  of  the  pilgrim  ;  and  I  knew,  that  while  they  prowled  with  their 
mountain-dogs  in  quest  of  wayworn  travellers,  their  brethren  were  occupied 
far  off  in  the  mines  of  Mexico  and  Peru,  soothing  the  toils  of  the  encaverned 
slave.  But  while  I  acknowledged  these  benefactions,  I  could  not  forget  the 
crowds  of  lazy  drones  whom  the  system  has  fostered  in  Europe  :  the  humor- 
ous lines  of  Berchoux,  in  his  clever  poem  "  La  Gastronomic,"  involuntarily 
crossed  my  mind  : 

"  Oui,  j'avais  un  bon  oncle  en  votre  ordre,  elevc 
D'un  mcrite  cclatant,  gastronome  acheve  ; 
Souvent  il  m'ctalait  son  brillant  rcfectoire, 
C'etait  li\  du  covivent  la  veritable  gloire  ! 
Gaini  des  biens  exquis  qu'enfante  I'univers, 
V'ins  d'lin  bouquet  celeste,  et  mets  d'un  godt  divers  ! 

"  Cloitres  ni.-ijestueux  !  fortunes  monastbres  ! 
Retraif;  du  repos  des  vertus  solitaires, 


Literature  and  the  Jesuits.  ii, 


Je  vous  ai  \m  tomber,  le  ccEur  gros  des  soupirs  ; 
;Mais  je  vous  ai  garde  d'etemels  souvenirs  I — 
Je  scais  qu'on  a  prouve  que  vous  aviez  grand  tort, 
Mais  que  ne  prouve-t-on  pas  quand  on  est  le  plus  fort  ?  " 

This  last  verse  is  a  capital  hit,  in  its  way. 

But  to  return  to  the  Jesuits.  Their  method  of  study,  or  ratio  stiidionim, 
compiled  by  a  select  quorum  of  the  order,  under  the  guidance  of  the  pro- 
found and  original  Father  Maldonatus,*  totally  broke  up  the  old  machinery 
of  the  schools,  and  demolished  for  ever  the  monkish  fooleries  of  contemporary 
pedagogues.  Before  the  arrival  of  the  Jesuits  in  the  field  of  collegiate  exer- 
cises, the  only  skill  applauded  or  recognized  in  that  department  consisted  in  a 
minute  and  servile  adherence  to  the  deep-worn  tracks  left  by  the  passage  of 
Aristotle's  cumbrous  waggon  over  the  plains  of  learning.  The  well-known 
fable  of  Gay,  concerning 

"A  Grecian  youth  of  talents  rare," 
whom  he  describes  as  excelling  in  the  hippodrome  of  Athens  by  the  fidelity 
with  which  he  could  drive  his  chariot-wheels  within  an  inch  of  the  exact  circle 
left  on  the  race-course  by  those  who  had  preceded,  was  the  type  and  model  of 
scholastic  excellence.  The  Jesuits,  in  every  university  to  which  they  could  get 
access,  broke  new  ground.  \'arious  and  fierce  were  the  struggles  against  those 
invaders  of  the  territory  and  privileges  of  Boeotia;  dulness  opposed  his  old 
bulwark,  the  vis  iiie/'tice,  in  vain.  Indefatigable  in  their  pursuit,  the  new- 
professors  made  incessant  inroads  into  the  domains  of  ignorance  and  sloth ; 
awfully  ludicrous  were  the  dying  convulsions  of  the  old  universitarian  system, 
that  had  squatted  like  an  incubus  for  so  many  centuries  on  Paris,  Prague, 
Alcala,  Valladolid,  Padua,  Cracow,  and  Coimbra.  But  it  was  in  the  halls  of 
their  own  private  colleges  that  they  unfolded  all  their  excellence,  and  toiled 
unimpeded  for  the  revival  of  classic  studies.  "  Co/isule  scholas  Jesuitaruin" 
exclaims  the  Lord  Chancellor  Bacon,  who  was  neither  a  quack  nor  a  swiper, 
but  "  spoke  the  words  of  sobriety  and  truth."  (\'ide  Opus  dc  Di^^iiit.  Scicnt. 
hb.  \ii.)  And  Cardinal  Richelieu  has  left  on  record,  in  that  celebrated  docu- 
ment the  "Testament  Politique,  '  part  i.  chap.  2,  sect.  10,  his  admiration  of 
the  rivalry  in  the  race  of  science  which  the  order  created  in  France. 

Forth  from  their  new  college  of  Lafleche  came  their  pupil  Descartes,  to  dis- 
turb the  existing  theories  of  astronomy  and  metaphysics,  and  start  new  and 
unexampled  inquiries.  Science  until  then  had  wandered  a  captive  in  the 
labynnth  of  the  schools  ;  but  the  Cartesian  Dcedalus  fashioned  wings  for 
hirnself  and  for  her,  and  boldly  scared  among  the  clouds.  Tutored  in  their 
college  of  Fayenza  (near  Rimini),  the  immortal  Torricelli  reflected  honour  on 
his  intelligent  instructors  by  the  invention  of  the  barometer,  A.D.  1620.  Of 
the  education  of  Tasso  they  may  well  be  proud.  Justus  Lipsius,  trained  in 
their  earliest  academies,  did'good  service  to  the  cause  of  criticism,  and  cleared 
off  the  cobwebs  of  the  con.mentators  and  grammarians.  Soon  after,  Cassini 
rose  from  the  benches  of  their  tuition  to  preside  over  the  newly  established 
Obsc>~\itoirc  in  the  metropolis  of  France  ;  while  the  illustrious  Tournefort 
issued  from  their  halls  to  carry  a  searching  scrutiny  into  the  department  ot 
botanical  science,  then  in  its  infancy.  The  Jesuit  Kircherf  meantime  astonished 
his  contemporaries  bv  his  untiring  energy  and  sagacious  mind,  equally  coii- 
spicuous  in  its  most  siiblime  as  in  its  trifling  efforts,  whether  he  predicted  with 
precision  the  eraption  of  a  volcano,  or  invented  that  ingenious  plaything  the 
"  Magic  Lantern."     Father  BoscovichJ  shone  subsequently  with  equal  lustre  : 

*  See  Bayle's  Diet.,  art.  Maldonat. 

i  Mundus   Subterraneus,  Amst.    1664,  2  vols.  fol.     China   Illustrat.,  /7vV.  1667,  folio. 
De  Usu  Obeliscor.  Rotnce,  1666,  folio.     Museum  Kircher,  ibid.  1709,  folio. 
X  Born  at  Ragusa,  on  the  Adriatic ;  taught  by  the  Jesuits,  in  their  college  in  that 


114  '^^^'^   Works  of  Father  P rout. 


and  it  was  a  novel  scene,  in  1759,  to  find  a  London  Royal  Society  preparing  to 
send  out  a  Jesuit  to  observe  the  transit  of  Venus  in  California.  His  pane- 
gyric, from  the  pen  of  the  great  Lalande,  fills  the  Journal  des  Sava/is, 
February  1792.  To  Fathers  Riccioli  and  De  Billy  science  is  also  deeply  in- 
debted. 

Forth  from  their  college  of  Dijon,  in  Burgundy,  came  Bossuet  to  rear  his 
mitred  front  at  the  court  of  a  despot,  and  to  fling  the  bolts  of  his  tremendous 
oratory  among  a  crowd  of  elegant  voluptuaries.  Meantime  the  tragic  muse  of 
Corneille  was  cradled  in  their  college  of  Rouen  ;  and,  under  the  classic  guid- 
ance of  the  fathers  who  taught  at  the  College  de  Clcnnout,  in  Paris,  Moliere 
grew  up  to  be  the  most  exquisite  of  comic  writers.  The  lyric  poetry  of  Jean 
Baptiste  Rousseau  was  nurtured  by  them  in  their  college  of  Louis  le  Grand. 
And  in  that  college  the  wondrous  talent  of  young  "  Franyois  Arouet  "  was  also 
cultivated  by  these  holy  men,  who  little  dreamt  to  what  purpose  the  subsequent 
"Voltaire"  would  convert  his  abilities — 

"  Non  hos  qussitum  munus  in  usus." 

ALneid.  IV. 

D'Olivet,  Fontenelle,  Crebillon,  Le  Franc  de  Pompignan— there  is  scarcely  a  _ 
name  known  to  literature  during  the  seventeenth  century  which  does  not  bear  " 
testimony  to  their  prowess  in  the  province  of  education— no  profession  for 
which  they  did  not  adapt  their  scholars.  For  the  bar  they  tutored  the  illus- 
trious Lamoignon  (the  Meecenas  of  Racine  and  Boileau).  It  was  they  who 
taught  the  vigorous  ideas  of  D"Argenson  how  to  shoot ;  they  who  breathed  into 
the'>'oung  Montesquieu  his  "  Fsprit ;  "  they  who  reared  those  ornaments  of 
French  jurisprudence,  Xicoliii,  Mole,  Seguier,  and  Amelot. 

Their  disciples  could  wield  the  sword.  Was  the  great  Conde  deficient  in 
warlike  spirit  for  having  studied  among  them  ?  was  Marechal  Villars  a  discredit- 
able pupil?  Need  I  give  the  list  of  their  other  belligerent  scholars?— De 
Grammont,  De  Boufflers,  De  Rohan,  De  Brissac,  De  Etrces,  De  Soubise,  De 
Crequi,  De  Luxembourg, — in  France  alone. 

Great  names  these,  no  doubt  ;  but  literature  is  the  title  of  this  paper,  and 
to  that  I  would  principally  advert  as  the  favourite  and  peculiar  department  of 
their  excellence.  True,  the  Society  devoted  itself  most  to  church  history  and 
ecclesiastical  learning,  such  being  the  proper  pursuit  of  a  sacerdotal  body ;  and 
success  in  this,  as  in  every  study,  waited  on  their  industry.  The  archaiologist 
is  familiar  with  the  works  of  Father  Petavius,  whom  Grotius  calls  his  friend  ; 
with  the  labours  of  Fathers  Sirmond,  Bolland,  Hardouin,  Labbe,  Parennin, 
and  Tourneinine.  The  admirer  of  polemics  (if  there  be  any  such  at  this  time 
of  day)  is  acquainted  with  Bellarmin,  Menochius,  Suarez,  Tolet,  Becan,  Sheff- 
maker,  and  (last,  though  not  least)  O  !  Cornelius  u  Lapide,  with  thee?  But  in 
classic  lore,  as  well  as  in  legendary,  the  Jesuits  excelled.  Who  can  pretend  to 
the  character  of  a  literary  man  that  has  not  read  Tiraboschi  and  his  "  Storia 
della  Letteratura  d' Italia,"  Bouhours  on  the  "  Manniere  de  bien  penser,"  Bru- 
moy  on  the  "Theatre  des  Grecs,"  Vavassour  "  de  LudicrA,  Dictione,"  Rapin's 

town  ;  entered  the  order  at  the  age  of  sixteen  ;  was  sent  to  Rome,  and  forthwith  was 
made  professor  of  mathematics  in  the  Archigymn.  Rom.;  was  employed  by  the  Papal 
Government  in  the  measurement  of  the  arc  of  meridian,  which  he  traced  from  Ronie  to 
Rimini,  assisted  by  an  English  Jesuit,  Mayer;  in  1750,  employed  by  the  Repubhc  of 
Lucca  in  a  matter  relating  to  their  marshes ;  subsequently  by  the  Emperor  of  Austria  ; 
and  was  elected,  in  1760,  a  fellow  of  the  London  Royal  Society,  to  whom  he  dedicated 
his  poem  on  the  "  Eclipses,"  a  clev;er  manual  of  astronomy.  His  grand  work  on  the 
properties  of  matter  {Lex  Continuitatis)  was  printed  at  Rome,  410.  1754.  We  have 
also  from  his  pen,  Dioptrica,  Vind.  1767  :  Mathesis  Universa,  I'oietiis,  1757  ;  Lens  et 
Telescop.,  Kovt.  1755  ;  Theoria  Philos.  Natur.,  Victuur,  1758.  The  P'rench  Government 
invited  him  to  Paris,  where  he  died  in  1792,  in  the  sentiments  of  unfeigned  piety  which 
he  ever  displayed. 


Literature  and  the  Jesuits.  115 


poem  on  the  "  Art  of  Gardening"  (the  model  of  those  by  Dr.  Darwin  and 
Abbi  Delille),  Vaniere's  "  Prasdium  Rusticum,"  Tursellin  "de  Particulis 
Laiini  Sermonis,"  and  Casimir  Sarbievi's  Latin  Odes,  the  nearest  approach  to 
Horace  in  modern  times?  What  shall  I  say  of  Poree  (Voltaire's  master),  of 
Sanadon,  of  Desbillons,  Sidronius,  Jouvency,  and  the  "journalistes  de  Tre- 


voux 


They  have  won  in  France,  Italy,  and  Spain,  the  palm  of  pulpit  eloquence. 
Logic,  reason,  wisdom,  and  piety,'  dwelt  in  the  soul  of  Bourdaloue,  and  flowed 
copiouslv  from  his  hps.  Lingendes,  Cheminais,  De  la  Rue,  were  at  the  head 
of  their 'profession  among  tiie  Frf,nch ;  while  the  pathetic  and  unrivalled 
Segneri  took  the  lead  among  the  eloquent  orators  of  Italy.  In  Spain,  a  Jesuit 
has  done  more  to  purify  the  pulpit  of  that  fantastic  country  than  Cervantes  to 
clear  the  brains  of  its  chivalry:  for  the  comic  romance  of  "  Fray  Gerundio  " 
( Friar  Gerund) ,  by  the  Jesuit  Isla,  exhibiting  the  ludicrous  ranting  of  the  cowled 
fraternity  of  that 'day,  has  had  the  effect,  if  not  of  giving  eloquence  to  clods  of 
the  valley,  at  least  of  putting  down  absurdity  and  presumption. 

They  wooed  and  won  the  muse  of  history,  sacred  and  profane.  Strada*  in 
Flanders,  Maffeii-  at  Genoa,  Mariana  J  in 'Seville.  In  France,  Maimbourg,§ 
Daniel,  II  Boujeant,«7  Charlevoix,**  Berruyer.ff  D'Orleans,Jj  Ducerceau,§§ 
and  Du  Halde,  ,,1  shed  light  on  the  paths  of  historical  inquiry  which  they 
severally  trod.     I  purposely  omit  the  ex-Jesuit  Raynal. 

They  shone  in  art  as  we'll  as  in  science.  Father  Pozzi  was  one  of  Rome's 
best  pamters.  A  Jesuit  was  employed  in  the  drainage  of  the  Pontine  marshes; 
another  to  devise  plans  for  sustaining  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  when  it  threat- 
ened to  crush  its  massive  supports.  In  naval  tactics  (a  subject  estranged  from 
sacerdotal  researches)  the  earliest  work  on  the  strategy  proper  to  ships  of  the 
line  was  written  by  Pere  le  Hoste,  known  to  middies  as  "  the  Jesuits'  book,"  its 
French  title  being'"  Traite  des  Evolutions  Xavales."  The  first  hint  of  atrial 
navigation  came  from  Padre  Lana,  in  his  work  dc  Arte  Prodromo,  Milan. 
Newton  acknowledges  his  debt  to  Father  Grimaldi,  de  Lumine  Coloribus  et 
Iride,  Bononioe,  1665,  for  his  notions  on  the  inflexion  of  hght.  The  best  edi- 
tion of  Xewton's  Priucipia  was  brought  out  at  Geneva,  1739-60,  by  the  Jesuits 
Lesueur  and  Jaquier,  in  3  vols.  In  their  missions  through  Greece,  Asia  Minor, 
and  the  islands  of  the  Archipelago,  they  were  the  best  antiquaries,  botanists, 
and  mineralogists.  Thev  became  watchmakers,  as  well  as  mandarins,  in  China; 
thev  were  astronomers  on  the  "plateau"  of  Thibet ;  they  taught  husbandrj' 
and  mechanics  in  Canada  ;  while  in  their  own  celebrated  and  peculiar  conquest 
fsince  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Doctor  Francia)  on  the  plains  of  Paraguay, 
they  taught  ihe  theory  and  practice  of  civil  architecture,  civil  economy,  farming, 
rail'oring,  and  all  the'trades  of  civilized  life.  They  played  on  the  fiddle  and  on 
the  flute,  to  draw  the  South  American  Indians  from  the  forests  into  their  villages  ; 
and  the  storj'  of  Thebes  rising  to  the  sound  of  Amphion's.l}Te  ceased  to  be  a 
fable. 

We  find  them  in  Europe  and  at  the  antipodes,  in  Siam  and  at  St.  Omer's,  in 

*  "De  Eello  Belgico." 

f  "  Rerum  Indicar.  Hist." 

+  "  Histor.  di  Espana."     De  Regis  Institutione,  Toledo,  1559. 

§  "  Histcire  de  I'Arianisrae,  des  Iconoclastes,  des  Croisades,  du  Calvinism,  de  la 
Ligne." 

li  "  Hist,  de  France."     "  De  la  ^Nlilice  Francaise." 

IT  "  Hist,  du  Traite  de  'Westphalie."     "  Ame  des  Betes,"  S:c. 

**  "  Hist,  du  Paraguay,  du  Japon,  de  St.  Doniin£,ue. " 

Tt  "  Du  Peuple  de  Dieu." 

it  "  Revolutions  d'Angleterre." 

§§  "Conjuration  de  Rienzi,"  iS:c.,  S:c. 

L  !  "  Description  Geogr.  Histor.  Politic,  et  Physique  de  la  Chine."  Land.  1742,  2  vols. 
folio. 


154°  and  in  1830 — everywhere  the  same.  Lainez  preached  before  the  Council 
of  Trent  in  1560;  Rev.  Peter  Kenney  was  admired  by  the  North  American 
Congress  not  many  years  ago.  Tiraboschi  was  librarian  of  the  Brera  in  1750  : 
Angelo  Mai  (ex-Jesuit)  is  hbrarian  of  the  \'atican  in  1833.  By  the  bye,  they 
were  also  capital  apothecaries.  Who  has  not  heard  of  Jesuits'  bark,  Jesuits' 
drops,  Jesuits'  powders,  Jesuits'  cephalic  snuff  f 

"  Quae  regio  in  terris  nostri  non  plena  laboris  ?  " 

^neid.  I. 

And,  alas  !  must  I  add,  who  has  not  heard  of  the  cuffs  and  buffetings,  the 
kicks  and  halters,  which  they  have  met  with  in  return  : 

"  Quae  caret  ora  cruore  nostro?  " 

Hor.  lib.  ii.  ode  i. 

For,  of  course,  no  set  of  men  on  the  face  of  God's  earth  have  been  more  abused. 
'Tis  the  fate  of  every  mortal  who  raises  himself  by  mother-wit  above  the  com- 
mon level  of  fools  and  dunces,  to  be  hated  by  the  whole  tribe  most  cordially : 
"  Urit  enim  fulgore  suo,"  &c. 

Hor.  lib.  ii.  ep.  i. 

The  friars  were  the  first  to  raise  a  hue  and  cry  against  the  Jesuits,  with  one 
Melchior  Cano,  a  Dominican,  for  their  trumpeter.  Ignatius  had  been  taken  up 
by  "  the  Inquisition"  three  several  times.  Then  came  the  pedants  of  the  uni- 
versity at  Paris,  whom  these  new  professors  threw  into  the  shade.  The  "order" 
was  next  at  loggerheads  with  that  suspicious  gang  of  intriguers,  the  council  and 
doge  of  Venice;  the  Jesuits  were  expelled  the  republic*  Twice  they  were 
expelled  from  France;  but,  thrust  out  of  the  door,  they  came  back  through  the 
window.  They  encountered,  like  Paul,  "stripes,  perils,  and  prisons,"  in 
Poland,  in  Germany,  in  Portugal,  and  Hungary.  They  were  hanged  by  dozens 
in  England.  Their  march  for  two  centuries  through  Europe  was  only  to  be 
compared  to  the  retreat  of  the  ten  thousand  Greeks  under  Xenophon. 

A  remarkable  energy,  a  constant  discipline,  a  steady  perseverance,  and  a 
dignified  self-respect,  were  their  characteristics  from  the  beginning.  They  did 
not  notice  the  pasquinades  of  crazy  Pascal,  whose  "  Provincial  Letters,"  made 
up  of  tlie  raspings  of  antiquated  theology  and  tlie  scrapings  of  forgotten  casu- 
istry, none  who  knew  tlievt  ever  thought  much  of.  1  he  sermons  of  Bourda- 
loue  were  the  only  answer  such  calumnies  required  ;  and  the  order  confined 
itself  to  giving  a  new  edition  of  the  "  Eettres  cdifiantes  et  curieuses,  ecrites  par 
nos  Missionaires  du  Levant,  de  la  Chine,  du  Canada,  et  du  Malabar."  When 
a  flimsy  accusation  was  preferred  against  him  of  Africa, 

"  Hunc  qui 
Duxit  ab  eversTi  meritum  Carthagine  nomen," 

he  acted  in  a  similar  manner,  and  silenced  his  miseraV)le  adversaries. 

If  ever  there  was  an  occasion  on  which  tlie  comparative  merits  of  the  Jesuits 
and  Jansenists  could  be  brought  to  the  test,  it  was  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
pestilential  visitation  that  smote  the  city  of  Marseilles;  and  which  history, 
poetry,  and  piety,  will  never  allow  to  be  forgotten  : 

"  Why  drew  Marseilles'  good  bishop  purer  breath, 
When  nature  sicken'd,  and  each  gale  was  death'.'" 

Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  ep.  4. 

For  while  the  Pharisees  of  that  school  fled  from  their  clerical  functions,  and 
sneaked  off  under  some  paltry  pretext,  the  Jesuits  came  from  the  neighbouring 
town  of  Ai.x  to  attend  the  sick  and  the   dying;   and,  under  the  orders  of  that 

*  In  Bayle's  Dictionary,  among  the  notes  appended  to  the  article  on  Abelard,  will  be 
found  the  real  cause  of  their  expulsion;  they  may  be  proud  of  it. 


Literature  and  the  Jesuits.  117 

gallant  and  disinterested  bishop,  worked,  while  life  was  spared  them,  in  the 
cause  of  humanity.  Seven  of  them  perished  in  the  exercise  of  this  noblest 
duty,  amid  the  blessings  of  their  fellow-men.  The  bishop  himself,  De  Belzunce, 
had'  not  only  studied  under  the  Jesuits,  but  had  been  a  vieinber  of  the  order 
during  the  early  part  of  his  ecclesiastical  career  at  Aix,  in  1691. 

Long  ago,  that  noblest  emanation  of  Christian  chivalry — an  order  in  which 
valorous  deeds  were  familiar  as  the  "  matin  song"  or  the  "vesper  hymn" — the 
Templars,  fell  the  victims  of  calumny,  and  were  immolated  amid  the  shouts  of 
a  vulgar  triumph ;  but  histor}',  keen  and  scrutinizing,  has  revealed  the  true 
character  of  the  conspiracy  by  which  the  vices  of  a  few  were  made  to  swamp 
and  overwhelm,  in  the  public  eye,  the  great  mass  of  virtue  and  heroism  which 
constituted  that  refined  and  gentlemanly  association ;  and  a  tardy  justice  has 
been  rendered  to  Jacques  Molay  and  his  illustrious  brethren.  The  day  may  yet 
come  when  isolated  instances  and  unauthenticated  misdeeds  will  cease  to  create 
an  unfounded  antipathy  to  a  society  which  will  be  found,  taking  it  all  in  all, 
to  have  desen-ed  well  of  mankind.  This,  at  least,  is  Father  Front's  honest 
opinion;  and  why  should  he  hide  it  under  a  bushel? 

The  most  convincing  proof  of  their  sterling  virtue  is  to  be  found  in  the  docil- 
ity and  forbearance  they  evmced  in  promptly  submitting  to  the  decree  of  their 
suppression,  issued  ex  calhedro.  by  one  Ganganelii,  a  Franciscan  friar,  who  had 
got  enthroned.  Heaven  knows  how  !  on  the  pontific  chair.  In  every  part  of 
Europe  they  had  powerful  friends,  and  could  have  "shown  fight  "  and  "  died 
game,"  if  their  respect  for  the  successor  of  "  the  fisherman  "  had  not  been  all 
along  a  distinctive  characteristic,  even  to  the  death.  In  Paraguay  they  could  have 
decidedly  spumed  the  mandate  of  the  Escurial,  backed  by  an  army  of  60, coo 
Indians,  devoted  to  their  spiritual  and  temporal  benefactors,  taught  the  tactics 
of  Europe,  and  possessing,  in  1750,  a  well-appointed  train  of  artillery.  That 
portion  of  South  America  has  smce  relapsed  into  barbarism  ;  and  the  results  of 
their  withdrawal  from  the  interior  of  that  vast  peninsula  have  fully  justified  the 
opinion  of  Muratori,  in  his  celebrated  work  on  Paraguay,  "II  Christianesimo 
fehce."  It  was  a  dismal  day  for  literature  in  Spain,  Portugal,  and  Italy,  when 
their  colleges  were  shut  up  ;  and  in  France  they  alone  could  have  stayed  the 
avalanche  of  irreligion ;  for,  by  presenting  Christianity  to  its  enemies  clad  in 
the  panoply  of  Science,  they  would  have  awed  the  scoffer,  and  confounded  the 
philosophc.  But  the  Vatican  had  spoken.  They  bowed  ;  and  quietly  dispers- 
ing through  the  cities  of  the  continent,  were  welcomed  and  admired  by  every 
friend  of  science  and  of  piety.  The  body  did  not  cease  to  do  good  even  after 
its  dissolution  in  1763,  and,  like  the  bones  of  the  prophet,  worked  miracles  of 
usefulness  even  in  the  grave.* 

Contrast  their  exemplar}'  submissiveness  with  the  frenzy  and  violence  of  their 
old  enemies  the  Jansenists  (of  which  sour  and  pharisaical  sect  Pascal  was  the 
mouthpiece^  when  the  celebrated  bull  Unigenitiis  was  issued  against  them. 
Never  did  those  unfortunate  wights,  whom  the  tyrant  Phalaris  used  to  enclose 
in  his  brazen  cow,  roar  so  lustily  as  the  clique  of  Port  Royal  on  the  occasion 
alluded  to.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  most  melancholy  exhibition  of  the  wildest  fanati- 
cism, combined,  as  usual,  with  the  m.ost  pertinacious  obstinacy.  The  followers 
of  Pascal  were  also  the  votaries  of  a  certain  vagabond  yclept  le  Diacre  Paris, 
whose  life  was  a  tissue  of  rascality,  and  whose  remains  were  said  by  the  Jansen- 
ists to  operate  wondrous  cures  in  the  churchyard  of  St.  Medard,  in  one  of  the 
fauxbourgs  of  the  capital.  The  devotees  of  Port  Royal  flocked  to  the  tomb  of 
the  deacon,  and  became  forthwith  hysterical  and  inspired.     The  wags  of  Louis 

*  "And  it  came  to  pass,  as  they  were  burj-ing  a  man,  behold  they  spied  a  band  of 
robbers ;  and  they  cast  the  man  into  the  sepulchre  of  Elisha  :  and  when  the  man 
touched  the  bones  of  Elisha  he  came  to  life,  and  stood  upon  his  feet."' — 2  Kings,  chap. 


ii8  The    Works  of  Father  Eroiit, 


the  Fifteenth's  time  called  them  "Us  Coirjuhioiiiiaires."  Thmgs  rose  to 
such  a  height  of  dangerous  absurdity  at  last  that  the  cemetery  was  shut  up  by 
the  police  ;  and  a  wit  had  an  opportunity  of  writing  on  the  gates  of  the  afore- 
said churchyard  this  pointed  epigram  : 

"  De  par  le  roy,  defense  aDieu, 
De  faire  miracles  en  ce  lieu." 

And  I  here  conclude  this  very  inadequate  tribute  of  long-remembered 
gratitude  towards  the  men  who  took  such  pains  to  drill  my  infant  mmd,  and 
who  formed  with  plastic  power  whatever  good  or  valuable  quality  it  may 
possess.  "Si  quid  est  in  me  ingenii,  judices  (et  sentio  quam  sit  exiguum),  si 
quce  exercitatio  ab  optimarum  artium  disciplinis  profecta,  earum  rerum  fruc- 
tum,  sibi,  suo  jure,  dtbent  repetere."— (Cicero /r^  Archin.  poet.)  And  as  for 
the  friend  of  my  youth,  the  accomplished  Cresset,  whose  sincerity  and  kindness 
will  be  ever  embalmed  in  m.y  memory,  I  cannot  show  my  sense  of  his  varied 
excellencies  in  a  more  substantial  way  than  by  making  an  effort— a  feeble  one, 
but  the  best  I  can  command— to  bring  him  before  the  Enghsh  public  in  his 
most  agreeable  production,  the  best  specimen  of  graceful  and  harmless  humour 
in  the  literature  of  France.  I  shall  upset  Vert-  Vert  into  English  verse,  for 
the  use  of  the  intelligent  inhabitants  of  these  islands;  though  I  much  fear, 
that  to  transplant  so  delicate  an  exotic  into  this  frigid  climate  may  prove  an 
unsuccessful  experiment. 

VERT-VERT,  THE   PARROT. 

A  poe:m  by  the  jesuit  cresset. 

Hys  Original  hmocence. 

Alas  !  what  evils  I  discern  in 

Too  great  an  aptitude  for  learning  ! 

And  fain  would  all  the  ills  unravel 

That  aye  ensue  from  foreign  travel  ; 

Far  happier  is  the  man  who  tarries 

Quiet  within  his  household  "Lares  :" 

Read,  and  you'll  find  how  virtue  vanishes, 

How  foreign  vice  all  goodness  banishes,  ^ 

And  how  abroad  young  heads  will  grow  dizz3% 

Proved  in  the  underwritten  Odyssey. 

In  old  Nevers,  so  famous  for  its 
Dark  narrow  streets  and  Gothic  turrets, 
Close  on  the  brink  of  Loire's  young  llood. 
Flourished  a  convent  sisterhood 
Of  Ursuliiics.     Now  in  this  order 
A  parrot  lived  as  parlour-boarder  ; 
Brought  in  his  childhood  from  the  Antilles, 
And  sheltered  under  convent  mantles  : 
Green  were  his  feathers,  green  his  pinions. 
And  greener  still  were  his  opinions  : 
For  vice  had  not  yet  sought  to  pervert 
This  bird,  who  had  been  christened  Vert-Vert; 
Nor  could  the  wicked  world  defile  him, 
Safe  from  its  snares  in  this  asylum. 
Fresh,  in  his  teens,  frank,  gay,  and  gracious, 
And,  to  crown  all,  somewhat  loquacious ; 
If  we  esamine  close,  not  one,  or  he, 
Had  a  vocation  for  a  nunnery.* 

*  "  Par  son  caquet  digne  d'etre  en  couvent." 


Literature  and  the  Jesuits.  119 


The  convent's  kindness  need  I  mention  ? 
Need  I  detail  each  fond  attention. 
Or  count  the  tit-bits  which  ht  Lent  he 
Swallowed  remorseless  and  in  plenty  ? 
Plump  was  his  carcase  ;  no,  not  higher 
Fed  was  their  confessor  the  friar  ; 
And  some  even  say  that  our  young  Hector 
Was  far  more  loved  than  the  "  Director. 
Dear  to  each  novice  and  each  nun — 
He  was  the  life  and  soul  of  fun  ; 
Though,  to  be  sure,  some  hags  censorious 
Would  sometimes  find  him  too  uproarious. 
What  did  the  parrot  care  for  those  old 
Dames,  while  he  had  for  him  the  household  i 
He  had  not  yet  made  his  "  profession,"      ^^ 
Kor  come  to  years  called  "  of  discretion  ; 
Therefore,  unblam.ed,  he  ogled,  flirted. 

And  romped  like  any  unconverted  : 

Nay  sometimes,  too,  by  the  Lord  Harry  ! 

He'd  pull  their  caps  and  "  scapularj'.' 
But  what  in  til  his  tricks  seemed  oddest. 
Was  that  at  times  he'd  turn  so  modest. 
That  to  all  bystanders  the  wight 

Appeared  a  finished  hypocrite. 

In  accent  he  did  not  resemble 

Kean,  though  he  had  the  tones  of  Kemble 

But  fain  to  do  the  sisters'  biddings. 

He  left  the  stage  to  Mrs.  Siddons. 

Poet,  historian,  judge,  financier, 

Eour  problems  at  a  time  he'd  answer- 
He  had  a  faculty  like  Caesar's. 

Lord  Althorp,  baffling  all  his  teazers, 

Could  not  surpass  Vert- Vert  in  puzzling  ; 

"Goodrich"  to  him  was  but  a  gosling. t 

Placed  when  at  table  near  some  vestal,        •  . 
His  fare,  be  sure,  was  of  the  best  all,— 
For  every  sister  would  endeavour 
To  keep  for  him  some  sweet  hors  d  auvre. 
Kindly  at  heart,  in  spite  of  vows  and 
Cloisters,  a  nun  is  worth  a  thousand  ! 
And  aye,  if  Heaven  would  only  lend  her, 
I'd  have  a  nun  for  a  nurse  tender  !t 

Then,  when  the  shades  of  night  would  come  on, 
And  to  their  cells  the  sisters  summon, 
Happy  the  favoured  one  whose  grotto 
This  sultan  of  a  bird  would  trot  to  : 
INIostly  the  young  ones'  cells  he  toyed  in 
(The  aged  sisterhood  avoiding), 
Slu-e  among  all  to  find  kind  offices,— 
Still  he  was  partial  to  the  no\;ice5. 
And  in  their  cells  our  anchorite 
Mostly  cast  anchor  for  the  night ; 
Perched  on  the  box  that  held  the  relics,  he 
Slept  without  notion  of  indelicacy.    _ 
Rare  was  his  luck  ;  nor  did  he  spoil  it 
By  flying  from  the  morning  toilet : 

*  "  Souvent  I'oiseau  I'emporta  sur  le  Pere."  , 

t  Q.  Wherefore  was  Lord  Goodrich  styled  a  goose  when  a  Chancellor  . 
2.    Because  honourable  m.embers  m  him  were  sure  of  an  ««^^r. 

]MaRT.  bCRIBL. 


X  "  Les  petits  soins,  les  attentions  fines,^^ 
Sont  nes,  dit  on,  chez  les  Ursulines. 


120  The   Works  of  Father  Proiit. 


Not  that  I  can  admit  the  fitness 
Of  (at  the  toilet)  a  male  witness  ; 
But  that  I  scruple  in  this  history 
To  shroud  a  single  fact  in  myster>'. 

Quick  at  all  arts,  our  bird  was  rich  at 
That  best  accomplishment,  called  chit-chat ; 
For,  though  brought  up  within  the  cloister. 
His  beak  was  not  closed  like  an  oyster, 
But,  trippingly,  without  a  stutter, 
The  longest  sentences  would  utter  ; 
Pious  withal,  and  moralizing. 
His  conversation  was  surprising  ; 
None  of  your  equivoques,  no  slander — 
To  such  vile  tastes  he  scorned  to  pander  ; 
But  his  tongue  ran  most  smooth  and  nice  on 
"  Deo  sit  laus"  and  "  Kyrie  eleison  ;" 
The  maxims  he  gave  with  best  emphasis 
Were  Suarez's  or  Thomas  a  Kempis's  ; 
In  Christmas  carols  he  was  famous, 
"  Orate,  fratres,"  and  "  Ore.mus  ;" 
If  in  good  humour,  he  was  wont 
To  give  a  stave  from  '^  Think  %uell  on't ;'"  * 
Or,  Vy  particular  desire,  he 
Would  chant  the  hymn  of  "  Dies  irae." 
Then  in  the  choir  he  would  amaze  all 
By  copying  the  tone  so  nasal 
In  which  the  sainted  sisters  chanted, — 
(At  least  that  pious  nun  my  aunt  did.) 

Hys  Fatall  Renowne. 

The  public  soon  began  to  ferret 
The  hidden  nest  of  so  much  merit, 
And,  spite  of  all  the  nuns'  endeavours, 
The  fame  of  Vert-Vert  filled  all  Nevers ; 
"Kay,  from  Moulines  folks  came  to  stare  at 
The  wondrous  talent  of  this  parrot ; 
And  to  fresh  visitors  ad  libitJiin 
Sister  Sophie  had  to  exhibit  him. 
Drest  in  her  tidiest  robes,  the  virgin. 
Forth  from  the  convent  cells  emerging, 
Brings  the  bright  bird,  and  for  his  plumage 
First  challenges  unstinted  homage; 
Then  to  his  eloquence  adverts, — 
"  What  preacher's  can  surpass  Vert-Vert's? 
Truly  in  oratory  few  men 
F.qual  this  learned  catechumen  ; 
Fraught  with  the  convent's  choicest  lessons, 
And  stuffed  with  piety's  quintessence  ; 
A  bird  most  quick  of  apprehension. 
With  gifts  and  graces  hard  to  mention  : 
Say  in  what  pulpit  can  you  meet 
A  Chrysostom  half  so  discreet, 
\\'ho'd  follow  in  his  ghostly  mission 
So  close  the  '  Fathers  and  tradition?'  " 
Silent  meantime,  the  feathered  hermit 
Waits  for  the  sister's  gracious  permit, 
When,  at  a  signal  from  his  mentor, 
Quick  on  a  course  of  speech  he'll  enter  ; 
Not  that  he  cares  for  human  glory. 
Bent  but  to  save  his  auditory  ; 


*  "  Pensez-y-bien,"  or  '■'Think  7vclJont"  as  translated  by  the  titular  bishop,  Richard 
Challoner,  is  the  most  generally  adopted  devotional  tract  among  the  Catholics  of  these 


islands. — Pkout 


Literature  and  the  Jesttits.  121 


Hence  he  pours  forth  with  so  much  unction 
That  all  his  hearers  feel  compunction. 

Thus  for  a  time  did  Vert-Vert  dwell 
Safe  in  his  holy  citadelle  ; 
Scholared  like  any  well-b.ed  abbe, 
And  loved  by  many  a  cloistered  Hebe  ; 
You'd  swear  that  he  had  crossed  the  same  bridge 
As  any  youth  brought  up  in  Cambridge.* 
Other  mon'cs  starve  themselves  ;  but  his  skin 
Was  sleek  like  that  of  a  t  ranciscan, 
And  far  more  clean  ;  for  this  grave  Solon 
Bathed  ever>'  day  in  eau  de  Cologne. 
Thus  he  indulged  each  guiltless  gambol, 
Blest  had  he  ne'er  been  doomed  to  ramble  ! 

For  in  his  life  there  came  a  crisis 
Such  as  for  all  great  men  arises, — 
Such  as  what  N.A.P  to  Russia  led, 
Such  as  the  "  flight  "  of  Mahomed  ; 
O  town  of  Nantz  !  yes,  to  thy  bosom 
We  let  him  go,  alas  !  to  lose  him  ! 
Edicts,  O  town  famed  for  revokuig, 
Still  was  Vert- Vert's  loss  more  provoking  ! 
Dark  be  the  day  when  our  bright  Don  went 
From  this  to  a  far-distant  convent  ! 
Two  words  comprised  that  awful  era — 
Words  big  v.ith  fate  and  woe — "'  II  ira  I  " 
Yes,  ''he  shall  go  :  "  but,  sisters,  mourn  ye 
The  dismal  fruits  of  that  sad  journey, — 
Ills  on  which  Xantz's  nuns  ne'er  reckoned, 
\\'hen  for  the  beauteous  bird  they  beckoned. 

Fame,  O  Vert-Vert  I  in  e\-il  humour. 
One  day  to  Nantz  had  brought  the  rumour 
Of  thy  accomplishments, — "  acumen," 
"  Nov?,"'  and  "t?j/>r//,"  quite  superhuman  : 
All  these  reports  but  served  to  enhance 
Thy  merits  with  the  nuns  of  Xantz. 
How  did  a  matter  so  unsuited 
For  convent  ears  get  hither  bruited  ? 
Some  may  inquire.     But  "  nuns  are  knowing," 
And  first  to  ]iear  ■luhat  gossip's  going.y 
Forthwith  they  taxed  their  wits  to  elicit 
From  the  famed  bird  a  friendly  visit. 
Girls'  wishes  run  in  a  brisk  current, 
But  a  nun's  fancy  is  a  torrent ;  + 
To  get  this  bird  they'd  pawn  the  missal  : 
Quick  they  indite  a  long  epistle. 
Careful  with  softest  things  to  fill  it. 
And  then  with  musk  perfume  the  billet ; 
Thus,  to  obtain  their  darling  purpose. 
They  send  a  writ  of  habeas  corpjcs. 

Oft  goes  the  post     ^\"ne^  will  the  answer 
Free  them  from  doubt's  corroding  cancer? 
Nothing  can  equal  their  anxiet}'. 
Except,  of  course,  their  well-known  piety. 
Things  at  Nevers  meantime  went  harder 
Than  well  would  suit  such  pious  ardour  ; 
It  was  no  easy  job  to  coax 
This  parrot  from  the  Nevers  folks. 

*  Quaere — Pons  Asinorum  ? 
+  "  Les  reverendes  meres 

A  tout  savoir  ne  sont  pas  les  demieres." 
X       Desir  de  fille  est  un  feu  qui  dfcvore, 

Desir  de  nonne  est  cent  fois  pis  encore." 


122 


TJie   Works  of  Father  Front. 


^Vhat,  take  their  toy  from  convent  belles  ? 

Make  Russia  yield  the  Dardanelles  !^^ 

Filch  his  good  ritle  from  a  "  Suliote," 

Or  drag  her  "  Romeo  "  from  a  "Juliet ! " 

Make  an  attempt  to  take  Gibraltar, 

Or  try  the  old  corn  laws  to  alter  ! 

This  seemed  to  them,  and  eke  to  us, 

"Most  wasteful  and  ridiculous." 

Long  did  the  "  chapter  "  sit  in  state. 

And  on  this  point  deliberate  ; 

The  junior  members  of  the  senate 

Set  their  fair  faces  quite  again'  it ;  | 

Refuse  to  yield  a  point  so  tender, 

And  urge  the  motto — No  surrender. 

The  elder  nuns  feel  no  great  scruple 

In  parting  with  the  charming  pupil  ; 

And  as  each  grave  affair  of  state  runs 

Most  on  the  verdict  of  the  matrons, 

Small  odds,  1  ween,  and  poor  the  chance  ^ 

Of  keeping  the  dear  bird  from  Nantz. 

Nor  in  my  surmise  am  I  far  out, — 

For  by  their  vote  off  goes  the  parrot. 

Hys  Evil  Voyage. 

En  ce  tevis  la,  a  small  canal-boat, 
Called  by  most  chroniclers  the  Talbot, 
(T.A.LBOT,  a  name  well  known  in  Fmnce  :) 
Travelled  between  Nevers  and  Xantz. 
Vert- Vert  took  shipping  in  this  craft, 
'Tis  not  said  whether  fore  or  aft  ;  _ 
But  in  a  book  as  old  as  Massinger's 
\Ve  find  a  statement  of  the  passengers  ; 
These  were— two  Ciascons  and  a  piper, 
A  sexton  (a  notorious  swipcr), 
A  brace  of  children,  and  a  nurse  ; 
But  what  was  infinitely  worse, 
A  dashing  Cyprian  ;  while  by  her 
Sat  a  m^st  jolly-looking  friar.* 

For  a  poor  bird  brought  up  in  purity 
'Twas  a  sad  augur  for  futurity 
To  meet,  just  free  fro.m  his  indentures. 
And  in  the  first  of  his  adventures, 
Such  company  as  formed  his  hansel, — 
Two  rogues  !  a  friar  1  !  and  a  damsel  11! 
Birds  the  above  were  of  a  feather  ; 
But  to  Vert-Vert  'twas  altogether 
Such  a  strange  aggregate  of  scandals 
As  to  be  met  but  among  Vandals  ; 
Rude  was  their  talk,  bereft  of  polish, 
And  calculated  to  demolish 
All  the  fine  notions  and  good-breeding 
'laught  by  the  nuns  in  their  sweet  Eden. 
No  Billingsgate  surpassed  the  nurse's, 
And  all  the  rest  indulged  in  curses :   _ 
Kar  hath  not  heard  suc-Ji  vulgar  gab  in 
i'he  n  mtic  cell  of  any  cabin. 
Silei.t  and  sad,  the  pensive  bird. 
Shocked  at  their  guilt,  said  not  a  word.t 

•  "  Une  nourrice,  un  moine,  deux  Gascons  ; 
Pour  un  enfant  qui  sort  du  monastfere 

C'^tait  echoir  en  di.anes  comp.-ignons."  . 

t  This  canal-boat,  it  would  seem,  was  not  a  very  retined  or  fashionable  conveyance 


Literature  and  the  Jesuits. 


123  1 


No-.v  he  "  of  orders  grey,"  accosting 
The  parrot  green,  who  seer.ied  quite  lost  in 
The  contemplation  ot  man's  .vicKeaness, 
And  "the  bright  river's  gliuiiig  hquidness, 
"Tip  us  a  stave  (quoth  Tuck),  my  darling. 
Ain't  you  a  parrot  or  a  starling  '.' 
If  you  dont  talk,  by  the  holy  poker, 
I'll  give  that  neck  of  jours  a  choker  I " 
Scared  by  this  threat  Irom  hi>  propriety, 
Our  pilgrim  thinking  with  sobriety. 
That  if  he  did  not  speak  they'd  make  him. 
Answered  the  Iriar,  "  Pax  sit  teccm  1" 
Here  our  reporter  marks  down  after 
Poirs  maiden-speech— "loud  roars  of  laughter;" 
And  sure  enough  the  bird  so  anable 
Could  hardly  use  a  phrase  more  laughable. 
Talking  of  such,  there  are  some  rum  ones 
»      That  oft  amuse  the  House  of  Commons  : 
And  since  we  lost  "  Sir  Joseph  Yorke" 
We've  got  great  "  Feargus"  fresh  from  Cork, — 
A  fellow  honest,  droll,  and  funny, 
Who  would  not  sell  for  love  or  m.oney 
His  native  land  :  nor,  like  vile  Daniel, 
Fawn  on  Lord  Althorp  like  a  spaniel; 
Flatter  the  mob,  while  the  old  fox 
Keeps  an  eye  to  the  begging-box. 
Now  'tis  a  shame  that  such  brave  fellows,   . 
When  they  blow  ''agitation's"  bellows, 
Should  only  meet  with  heartless  scoffers, 
While  cunning  Daniel  fills  his  coffers. 
But  Kerrymen  will  e'er  be  apter 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  chapter. 
While  others  bear  the  battle's  brunt, 
To  reap  the  spoil  and/t^<^  tjie  blunt. 
This  is-an  episode  concerning 
The  parrot's  want  of  worldly  learning. 
In  squandering  his  tropes  and  figures 
On  a  vile  crew  of  heartless  niggers. 
The  "  house  "  heard  once  with  more  decorum 
Phil.  Howard  on  ''the  Roman  forum."* 
Poll's  brief  address  met  lots  of  cavillers  ; 

Badgered  by  all  his  fellow-travellers. 

He  tried  to  mend  a  speech  so  ominous 
♦  By  striking  up  with  '•  Dixit  Dominls  !  " 

But  louder  shouts  of  laughter  follow, — 
This  last  roar  beats  the  former  hollow, 

And  shows  that  it  was  bad  economy 

To  give  a  stave  from  Deuteronomy. 
Posed,  not  abashed,  the  bird  refused  to 

Indulge  a  scene  he  was  not  used  to  ;  _ 

And,  pondering  on  his  strange  reception, 

"  There  mus  ,"  he  thought,  '•  be  some  deception 

In  the  nuns"  views  of  things  rhetorical. 

And  sister  Rose  is  not  an  oracle. 

rather  remindeth  of  Horace's  voyage  to  Brundusium,  and  of  that  line  so  applicable  to  the 

parrot's  company —  .,  .     .    ,, 

"  Repletum  nautis,  cauponibus,  atque  malignis. 

-  See  "  Mirror  o^  Parliament"  for  this  ingenious  person's  maiden  speech  on  Joe  Hu^^^ 
motion  to  alter  and  enlarge  the  old  House. of  Commons.         Sir,  the  ^^"''''l' ^^.^^^^^.^ 
I  say  tlie  Rovians  (loud  laughter)  never  altered  their  Forum      (^-^^^V  Vurnt  s'nofllv 
Heaven  soon  granted  what  Joe  Hume  desired,  and  the  old  rookery  ^^a=   ournt  Miarlly 
after. 


124  ^/^^   J  Forks  of  Father  Front. 


True  wit,  perhaps,  lies  not  in  '  mattifts' 
Nor  is  t)ieir  school  a  school  of  Athens." 

Thus  in  this  villanous  receptacle 
The  simple  bird  at  once  grew  sceptical. 
Doubts  lead  to  hell.     The  arch-deceis-er 
Soon  made  of  Poll  an  unbeliever  ; 
And  mixing  thus  in  bad  society, 
He  took  French  leave  of  all  his  piety. 

His  austere  maxims  soon  he  mollified. 
And  all  his  old  opinions  qualified  ; 
For  he  had  learned  to  substitute 
For  pious  lore  things  more  astute  ; 
Nor  was  his  conduct  unimpeachable. 
For  youth,  alas  !  is  but  too  teachable  ; 
And  in  the  progress  of  his  madness 
Soon  he  had  reached  t'.e  depths  of  badness. 
Such  were  his  cttrses,  such  his  evil 
Practices,  that  no  ancient  devil,* 
Plunged  to  the  chin  when  burning  hot 
Into  a  holy  water-pot, 
Could  so  blaspheme,  or  fire  a  volley 
Of  oaths  so  drear  and  melancholy. 

Must  the  bright  blossoms,  ripe  and  ruddy, 
And  the  fair  fruits  of  early  study. 
Thus  in  their  summer  season  crossed, 
Meet  a  sad  blight — a  killing  frost? 
Must  that  vile  demon,  Moloch,  oust 
Heaven  from  a  young  heart's  holocaust?^ 
And  the  glad  hope  of  life's  young  promise 
Thus  in  the  dawn  of  youth  el>b  from  us  ? 
Such  is,  alas  !  the  sad  and  last  trophy 
Of  the  young  rake's  supreme  catastrophe  ; 
For  of  what  use  are  learning's  laurels 
When  a  young  man  is  without  morals? 
Bereft  of  virtue,  and  grown  heinous, 
What  signifies  a  brilliant  genius? 
'Tis  but  a  case  for  wail  and  mourning,— 
'Tis  but  a  brand  fit  for  the  burning  ! 

Meantime  the  river  wafts  the  barge. 
Fraught  with  its  miscellaneous  charge, 
Smoothly  u;;on  its  broad  expanse, 
Up  to  the  very  quay  of  Nantz  ; 
Fondly  withm  the  convent  bowers 
The  sisters  calculate  the  hours. 
Chiding  the  breezes  for  their  tardiness, 
And,  in  the  height  of  their  fool-hardiness, 
Picturing  the  bird  as  fancy  painted — 
Lovely,  reserved,  polite,  and  sainted — ■ 
Fit  ^'Ursiiliiie."    And  this,  I  trow,  meant 
Enriched  with  everj'  endowment  ! 
Sadly,  alas  !  these  nuns  anointed 
Will  find  their  fancy  disappointed  ; 
When,  to  meet  all  those  hopes  they  drew  on, 
They'll  find  a  regular  Don  Ju.^n  ! 

The  A7vfull  Discoverie. 

Scarce  in  the  port  was  this  small  craft 
On  its  arrival  telegraphed, 

Bientftt  il  scut  jurer  et  mougreer 

Mieux  qu'un  vieux  diable  au  fond  d'un  bdnitier. 

Faut-il  qu'ainsi  Texemple  soducteur 

Du  ciel  au  diable  emporte  im  jeune  coeur?" 


Liter atiLve  and  the  Jesuits,  125 


^Vhen,  from  the  boat  home  to  transfer  him. 

Came  the  nuns'  portress,  "  sister  Jerome." 

Well  did  the  parrot  recognize 

The  walk  demure  and  downcast  eyes  ; 

Nor  aught  such  saintly  guidance  relished 

A  bird  by  worldly  arts  embellished  ; 

Such  was  his  taste  for  profane  gaiety, 

He'd  rather  much  go  with  the  laity. 

Fast  to  the  bark  he  clung  ;  but  plucked  thence. 

He  showed  dire  symptoms  of  reluctance. 

And,  scandalizing  each  beholder, 

Bit  the  nun's  cheek,  and  eke  her  shoulder  !* 

Thus  a  black  eagle  once,  'tis  said, 

Bore  off  the  struggling  Ganymede,  t 

Thus  was  Vert- Vert,  heart-sick  and  weary. 

Brought  to  the  heavenly  monaster}'. 

The  bell  and  tidings  both  were  tolled, 

And  the  nuns  crowded,  young  and  old. 

To  feast  their  eyes  with  joy  uncommon  on 

I'his  wondrous  talkative  ohenomenon. 

Round  the  bright  stranger,  so  amazing 
And  so  renowned,  the  sisters  gazing, 
Praised  the  green  glow  which  a  warm  latitude 
Gave  to  his  neck,  and  liked  his  attitude: 
Some  by  his  gorgeous  tail  are  smitten. 
Some  by  his  beak  so  beauteous  bitten  !_ 
And  none  e'er  dreamt  of  dole  or  harm  in 
A  bird  so  brilliant  and  so  charming. 
Shade  of  Spurzheim  I  and  thou,  Lavater, 
Or  Gall,  of  "  bumps  "  the  great  creator  ! 
Can  ye  explain  how  our  young  hero, 
With  all  the  \4ces  of  a  Nero, 
Seemed  such  a  model  of  good-breeding, 
Thus  quite  astray  the  convent  leading? 
Where  on  his  head  appeared,  I  ask  from  ye, 
The  "  nob"  indicative  of  blasphemy? 
Methinks  'twould  puzzle  your  ability 
To  find  his  organ  of  scurrility. 

Meantime  the  abbess,  to  "  draw  out " 
A  bird  so  modest  and  devout, 
With  soothing  air  and  tongue  caressing 
The  "  pilgrim  of  the  Loire  "  addressing. 
Broached"  the  most  edifying  topics. 
To  "  start"  this  native  of  the  tropics  ; 
When,  to  their  scandal  and  amaze,  he 
Broke  forth— "Mori'icu  !  those  mens  are  crazy  V 
(Showing  how  well  he  learnt  his  task  on 
The  packet-boat  from  that  vile  Gascon  1)  _ 
"  Fie  !  brother  Poll  !  "  with  zeal  outbursting, 
E.xclaimed  the  abbess,  Dame  Augustin. 
But  all  the  lady's  sage  rebukes 
Brief  answer  got  from  Poll — "Gadzooks  !" 
Nay,  'tis  supposed,  he  muttered,  too, 
A  word  folks  wTite  with  W. 
Scared  at  the  sound,—"  Sure  as  a  gun, 
The  bird's  a  demon  !  "  cried  the  nun. 

*  "  Les  uns  disent  au  cou, 

D'autres  au  bras;  on  ne  sait  pas  bien  ou.'* 
t  "  Qualem  ministrum  fulminis  alitem. 

Cui  rex  deorum  regnum  in  aves  vagos 
Commisit.  expertus  fidelem 
Jupiter  in  Ganymede  flavo." 

HOR. 


Vm. 


126  The   Works  of  Father  Front. 


"  O  the  vile  wretch  !  the  naughty  dog  ! 

He's  surely  Lucifer  i7icog. 

What  !  is  the  reprobate  before  us 

That  bird  so  pious  and  decorous — 

So  celebrated  ?  "—Here  the  pilgrim, 

Hearing  sufficient  to  bewilder  him, 

Wound  up  the  sermon  of  the  beldame 

By  a  conclusion  heard  but  seldom— 

"  Ventre  Saint  Gris  ! "  "  Parbleu  ! "  and  "  Sacre  ! 

Three  oaths  !  and  every  one  a  luhacker! 

Still  did  the  nuns,  whose  conscience  tender 
Was  much  shocked  at  the  young  oflfender, 
Hoping  he'd  change  his  tone,  and  alter, 
Hang  breathless  round  the  sad  defaulter  : 
When,  wrathful  at  their  importunity, 
And  grown  audacious  from  impunuy. 
He  fired  a  broadside  (holy  Mar>-  !) 
Drawn  from  Hell's  own  vocabulary  ! 
Forth  like  a  Congreve  rocket  burst. 
And  stormed  and  swore,  J^ared  up  and  cursed  ! 
Stunned  at  these  sounds  of  import  stygian, 
The  pious  daughters  of  religion 
Fled  from  a  scene  so  dread,  so  horrid. 
But  with  a  cross  first  signed  their  forehead. 
The  younger  sisters,  mild  and  meek, 
Thought  that  the  culprit  spoke  in  Greek  : 
But  the  old  matrons  and  "  the  bench  " 
Knew  every  word  was  genuine  French  ; 
And  ran  in  all  directions,  pell-mell. 
From  a  flood  fit  to  overwhelm  hell. 
'Twas  by  a  fall  that  Mother  Ruth  * 
Then  lost  her  last  remaining  tooth. 

"  Fine  conduct  this,  and  pretty  guidance  !" 
Cried  one  of  the  most  mortified  ones  ; 
"  Pray,  is  such  language  and  such  ritual 
Among  the  Nevers  nuns  habitual  ? 
'Twas  in  our  sisters  most  improper 
To  teach  such  curses — such  a  whopper  ! 
He  shan't  by  me,  for  one,  be  hindered  ^^ 
From  being  sent  back  to  his  kindred  !  _" 
This  prompt  decree  of  Poll's  proscription 
Was  signed  by  general  subscription. 
Straight  in  a  cage  the  nuns  insert 
The  guilty  person  of  Vert-Vert  ;  _ 
Some  young  ones  wanted  to  detain  him  ; 
But  the  grim  portress  took  "the  paynim" 
Back  to  the  boat,  close  in  his  litter  ; 
'Tis  not  said  this  time  that  he  bit  her. 

Back  to  the  convent  of  his  youth, 
Sojourn  of  innocence  and  truth, 
Sails  the  careen  monster,  scorned  and  hated, 
His  heart  with  vice  contaminated. 
Must  I  tell  how,  on  his  return. 
He  scandalized  his  old  sojourn  ? 
And  how  the  guardians  of  his  infancy 
Wept  o'er  their  quondam  child's  delinquency? 
What  could  be  done?  the  elders  often 
Met  to  consult  how  best  to  soften 

*  "  Toutes  pensent  Ctre  i  la  fin  du  monde, 
Et  sur  son  nez  la  mbre  Cunrgnnde 
Se  laissant  cheoir.  perd  sa  derniere  dent  1 " 


Literature  and  the  Jesuits.  127 


This  obdurate  and  hardened  sinner, 
Finished  in  ^nce  ere  a  beginner  !* 
One  mother  counselled  "  to  denounce 
And  let  the  Inquisition  pounce 
On  the  vile  heretic  ;  "  another 
Thought  '■  it  was  best  the  bird  to  smother  ! 
Or  "  send  the  convict  for  his  felonies 

Back  to  his  native  land— the  colonies."  j 

But  milder  views  prevailed.     His  sentence 

Was,  that,  until  he  showed  repentance,  ] 

"  A  solemn  fast  and  frugal  diet, 
Silence  exact,  and  pensive  quiet. 
Should  be  his  lot ;"  and,  for  a  blister, 
He  got,  as  gaoler,  a  lay  sister, 
Ugly  as  sin,  bad-tempered,  jealous. 
And  in  her  scruples  over-zealous. 
A  jug  of  water  and  a  carrot 
AVas  all  the  prog  she'd  give  the  parrot ; 
But  everj-  eve  when  vesper-bell 
Called  sister  Rosalie  from  her  cell, 
■  She  to  Vert-Vert  would  gain  admittance, 
And  bring  of  "  comfits  "  a  sweet  pittance. 
Comfits  :  alas  !  can  sweet  confections 
Alter  sour  slavcr5''s  imperfections? 
A\Tiat  are  "  preserves  "  to  you  or  me, 
WTien  locked  up  in  the  Marshalsea  ? 
The  sternest  virtue  in  the  hulks. 
Though  crammed  with  richest  sweetmeats,  sulks. 

Taught  by  his  gaoler  and  adversity, 
Poll  saw  the  folly  of  perversity. 
And  by  degrees  his  heart  relented  : 
Duly,  'in  fine,  "  the  lad  "  repented. 
His  Lent  passed  on,  and  sister  Bridget 
Coaxed  the  old  abbess  to  abridge  it. 

The  prodigal,  reclaimed  and  free. 
Became  again  a  prodig>', 
And  gave  more  joy,  by  works  and  words. 
Than  ninety-nine  canar^'-birds, 
Until  his  death.     Which  last  disaster 
(Nothing  on  eartli  endures  1)  came  faster 
Than  thev  imagined.     The  transition 
From  a  starved  to  a  stuffed  condition, 
From  penitence  to  jollification. 
Brought  on  a  fit  of  constipation. 
Some  think  he  would  te  living  still 
If  given  a  "  Vegetable  Pill ;" 
But  from  a  short  life,  and  a  mem-. 
Poll  sailed  one  day  per  Charon's  ferr^-. 

Bv  tears  from  nuns'  sweet  eyelids  wept, 
Happv  in  death  this  parrot  slept ; 
For  h'im  Elvsium  oped  its  portals, 
And  there  he  talks  among  immortals. 
But  I  have  read,  that  since  that  happy  day 
,  So  \sTites  Cornelius  a  Lapide,t 

*  I>nf,ncat  in  tenninis.  There  must  have-been  a  beginning  else  how  conceh-ea^^^^^^^^ 
(see  Kant.,  unless  the  proposition  of  Ocellus  Lucanus  be  adopted,  ^-lz.,  avapxov  >^<^<- 
a.-iKevTa:ov  TO -av.     Cresset  simply  has  it — 

"  II  fut  un  scelerat 
Profes  d'abord,  et  sans  noviciat." 

t  This  author  aprears  to  have  been  a  favourite  ujth  P/<^^|v  ^ J^hl^'Jir  howe^eJ; 
tunit^-  of  recorainlhis  predilection  'vide   pages  5  and  114).     Had  '^^^^^^rf{^'^^^ 
produced  ono-  such  writers  as  Cornelius,  we  fear  there  ^yould  l^^a^e  been  little  mentK) 
The  Jestdis  in  connection  with  iiteraiure.     Cresset  s  opmion  on  the  matter  1^  contamea 


128 


The   Works  of  Father  Front. 


Proving,  with  commentary  droll, 

The  transmigrauon  of  the  soul). 

That  still  Vert-Vert  this  earth  doth  haunt, 

Of  convent  bowers  a  visitant  ; 

And  that,  gay  novices  among, 

He  dwells,  transformed  into  a  tongue  ! 


in  an  epistle  to  his  confrere  P.  Boujeant,  author  of  the  ingenious  treatise  "Sur  TAme  des 
Betes  "  (see  p.  295)  ; — 


Moins  reverend  qu'aimable  p&re, 
Vous  dont  I'esprit,  le  caractfere, 

Et  les  airs,  ne  sont  point  montes 
Sur  le  ton  sottement  austere 

De  cent  tristes  paternites, 
Qui,  manquant  du  talent  de  plaire, 

Et  de  toute  legerete. 
Pour  dissimuler  la  misfere 

D"un  esprit  sans  amenit^. 


Affichent  la  severite  ; 
Et  ne  scrtant  de  leur  tani&re 
Que  sous  la  lugubre  bannil're 

De  la  grave  formalite, 
Heritiers  de  la  triste  enclume 

De  quell  [ue  pedant  ignore, 
Reforgent  quelque  lourd  volume, 

Atu:  anties  Latins  enteiTS. 


VII. 

Cbc  ^ongs  oi  fxmxct. 

ON   WINE,    WAR,     WOMEX,    WOODEN     SHOES,     PHILOSOPHY, 
FROGS   AND   FREE   TRADE. 

{Fr user's  Magazine,  October,  1834.) 


[The  Fraser  which  introduced  this  first  of  Prout's  four  batches  of  the  "  Songs  of 
France  "  was  the  one  containing  Maclise's  comical  portrait  of  William  Godwin,  author  of 
"  Thoughts  on  Man,"  repre>entin3  him  as  a  verj-  dwarf,  bonneted  by  a  disproportion- 
ately huge  hat,  and  with  his  hands  clasped  high  up  behind  him,  apparently  just  between 
the  shoulder-blades.  The  philosophic  novelist  who  imagined  Caleb  Williams  is  further 
embellished  in  this  grotesque  limning  with  ponderous  spectacles,  a  shapeless  sack-coat, 
shortish  trousers,  and  clumping  Wellingtons — the  latter  so  visibly  as  to  be  almost  audibly 
walking.  As  further  illustrative  cf  the  time  at  which  this  paper  of  Prouts  first  appeared, 
it  may  be  mentioned  here  that  next  to  it  in  that  number  of  Regina,  in  the  October  of 
1834,  was  an  article  on  the  "  Dinner  to  Earl  Grey  "  in  the  preceding  month  at  Edinburgh, 
in  going  whither  to  assist  in  the  taking  down  of  the  speeches  at  w  hich,  for  the  Moryiiiig 
Chronicle,  Charles  Dickens,  then  little  more  than  a  stripling,  contributed  to  that  journal 
his  first  morse!  of  descriptive  reporting — a  humorous  fragment,  not  onlj'  identified  as  from 
the  hand  of  "  Boz"  by  the  editor  of  the  present  volume,  but  reproduced  by  him  inextenso 
and  in  stenographic  characters  in  his  monograph  of  "  Charles  Dickens  as  a  Journalist." 
Maclise's  pencillings  for  this  seventh  of  the  Prout  Papers,  when  reprinted  in  the  1836 
edition,  were  tv.o  in  number  ;  one  of  them  being  the  vignette  on  the  engraved  title-page 
of  the  second  volume,  in  celebration  of  "The  Planting  of  the  Vine  in  Gaul ;"  the  other 
that  sentimental  sketch  of  "  Meet  me  by  ^loonlight  alone,"'  in  which  the  young  draughts- 
man portrayed  himself",  as  in  an  imaginary  glimpse  of  Paradise,  half  reclining  on  one  of 
the  primrose  paths  of  dalliance  under  green  leaves  at  the  feet  of  L.  E.  L.,  still  in  her 
gigot  sleeves,  the  picture — all  moonshine  I] 


CHAPTER   I.— WiXE  AND  War. 

"  Favete  linguis  !     Carmina  non  piiiis 
Audita,  Musarum  sacerdos, 
Virginibus  puerisque  canto." 

HoR.  Carmen  Sceculare. 

"  With  many  a  foreign  author  grappling, 
Thus  have  I,  Prout,  the  Muses'  chaplain, 
Traced  on  Regina's  virgin  pages 
Songs  for  '  the  boys  "  of  after-ages." 

Proct's  Trans,  of  Horace. 

That  illustrious  utilitarian,  Dr.  Bowrin.g,  the  knight-errant  of  free  trade, 
who  is  allowed  to  circulate  just  now  without  a  keeper  through  the  cities  of 
France,  will  be  in  high  glee  at  this  October  manifestation  of  Prout's  wisdom. 
The  Doctor  hath  found  a  kindred  soul  in  the  Priest.     To  promote  the  inter- 

G   * 


130  TJie  Works  of  FatJicr  Front. 

thsDge  of  national  commodities,  to  cause  a  blending  and  a  chemical  fusion  of 
their  mutual  produce,  and  establish  an  equilibrium  between  our  negative  and 
//(«>  positive  electricity;  such  appears  to  be  the  sublime  aspiration  of  both 
these  learned  pundits.  But  the  beneficial  results  attendant  on  the  efforts  of 
each  are  widely  dissimilar.  Both  Arcadiaiis,  they  are  not  equally  successful 
in  the  rivalry  of  sonsr.  We  have  to  record  nothing  of  Dr.  Bowring  in  the  way 
of  acquirement  to  this  country  ;  li'C  have  gained  nothing  by  his  labours-;  our 
ccrttons,  our  iron,  our  icoollens,  and  our  coals,  are  still  without  a  passport  to 
France  ;  while  in  certain  home-trades,  brought  by  his  calculations  into  direct 
competition  with  the  emanc'pated  French,  we  have  encountered  a  loss  on  our 
side  to  the  tune  of  a  few  millions.  Not  so  with  the  exertions  of  Prout  :  he  has 
enriched  England  at  the  e.xpense  of  her  rival,  and  engrafted  on  our  literature 
the  choicest  productions  of  Gallic  culture.  Silently  and  unostentatiously,  on 
the  bleak  top  of  Watergrasshill,  he  has  succeeded  in  naturalizing  these  foreign, 
vegetables,  associating  himself  in  the  gratitude  of  posterity  with  the  planter 
of  the  potato.  The  inhabitants  of  these  islands  may  now,  thanks  to  Prout  ! 
sing  or  whistle  the  "Songs  of  France,"  duty  free,  in  their  vernacular 
)anguage;  a  vastly  important  acquisition  !  The  beautiful  tunes  of  the  "  Ca 
ira  "  and  "  Charmante  Gabrielle  "  will  become  familiarized  to  our  dull  ears; 
instead  of  the  vulgar  "  Peas  upon  a  trencher,"  we  shall  enjoy  that  barrel-organ 
luxury  of  France,  "  Partant  pour  la  Syrie; "  and  for  "  The  Minstrel  Boy  to 
the  wars  is  gone,"  we  shall  have  the  original,  "  Malbroock  s'en  va-t-en 
guerre."  What  can  be  imagined  more  calculated  to  establish  an  harmonious 
understanding  between  the  two  nations,  than  this  attempt  of  a  benevolent 
clergyman  to  join  them  in  a  hearty  chorus  of  common  melody  .■"  a  grand 
"  duo,"  composed  of  bass  and  tenor,  the  roaring  of  the  bull  2Sidi  the  croal-cing 
of  ihefrog  ?  Far  less  to  be  patronized  was  the  late  musical  festival  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  which  "  proved  nothing." 

To  return  to  Dr.  Bowring.  We  have  been  quietly  obser\-ing  (not  without 
concern  for  our  national  pride)  the  ludicrous  exhibition  he  has  been  making  of 
himself  in  sundry  places  over  the  way.  Palmerston  is  a  good  cotton-ball  in 
the  paw  of  the  veteran  grimalkin  here  at  home ;  but  to  furnish  a  butt  for  the 
waggery  of  every  provincial  town  in  France  in  the  person  of  a  documentary 
doctor  is  somewhat  galling  to  our  national  vanity.  Commissions  of  inquiry 
are  the  order  of  the  day  ;  but  some  travelling  "  notes  of  interrogation  "  are  so 
misshapen  and  grotesque,  that  the  response  or  result  is  but  a  roar  of  laughter. 
This  doctor,  we  perceive,  is  now  the  hero  of  even,-  dinner  of  every  "  Chambre 
de  Commerce ;  "  his  toasts  and  his  speeches  in  Xorman  French  are,  we  are 
told,  the  fie  plus  ultra  of  comic  performance,  towards  the  close  of  each 
banquet.  He  is  now  in  Burgundy,  an  industrious  labourer  in  the  vineyard  of 
his  commission  ;  and  enjoys  such  particular  advantages,  that  Brougham  from 
his  woolsack  is  said  to  cast  a  jealous  eye  on  his  missionary's  department; 
"invidia  rumpantur  ut  ilia  Codri."  The  whole  affair  exhibits  that  sad 
mixture  of  in-,beci!ity  and  ostentation  too  perceptible  in  all  tlie  doings  of 
Utilitarianism.  Of  whose  commissioners  Phccdius  has  long  ago  given  the 
prototype  : 

"  Est  ardelionum  qusedam  Romse  natio 
Trepide  concursans,  occupata  in  otio. 
Gratis  anhelans,  multilm  agendo,  nihil  agens." 

So  no  more  on  that  topic.  The  publication  of  this  paper  on  the  "Songs  of 
France"  is  intended  V)y  us,  at  tliis  particular  .>eason,  to  counteract  the  pre- 
valent epidemic  which  hurries  away  our  population  in  crowds  to  Paris  or 
Boulogne.  By  furnishing  them  liere  at  home  with  Gallic  fricassee,  we  hope 
to  induce  some,  at  least,  to  remain  in  the  country,  and  forswear  emigration. 
If  our  "preventive  check"  succeed,  we  shall  have  deserved  well  of  our  own 


[ 


TJie  Songs  of  France.  131 

watering-places,  which  naturally  look  up  to  us  for  protection  and  patronage. 
Indeed,  we  are  sorry  to  find  the  Parisian  mania  so  visibly  on  the  increase,  in 
spite  of  the  strong  animadversions  of  Bombardinio,  aided  by  the  luminous 
notes  of  Sir  Morgan.     The  girls  will  never  hsten  to  good  advice — 

"  Each  pretty  minx  in  her  conscience  thinks  that  nothing  can  improve  her. 
Unless  she  sees  the  Tuileries,  and  trips  along  the  Louvre. " 

No  !  never  in  the  memory  of  Regina  has  Regent  Street  suffered  such 
complete  depopulation.  It  hath  emptied  itself  into  the  "  Boulevards."  Our 
city  friends  will  keep  an  eye  on  the  Monument,  or  it  may  elope  from  Pudding 
Lane  to  the  "  Place  \'end6me  :  "  but  as  to  the  Thames  flowing  into  the  Seine, 
we  cannot  yet  anticipate  so  alarming  a  phenomenon,  although  Juvenal  records 
a  similar  event  as  having  occurred  in  his  time — 

"Totus  in  Tyberim  defluxit  Orontes." 

But  there  is  still  balm  in  Gilead,  there  is  still  com  in  Eg)-pt.  The  "  chest  "  in 
which  old  Prout  hath  left  a  legacy  of  hoarded  wisdom  to  the  children  of  men 
is  open  to  us,  for  comfort  and  instruction.  It  is  rich  in  consolation,  and  fraught 
with  goodly  maxims  adapted  to  every  state  and  stage  of  sublunary  vicissitude. 
The  treatise  of  Boethius,  "  de  Consolatione  Philosophias,"  worked  wonders  in 
its  day,  and  assuaged  the  tribulations  of  the  folks  of  the  dark  ages.  The 
sibylline  books  were  consulted  in  all  cases  of  emergency.  Prout' s  strong  box 
rather  resembleth  the  oracular  portfolio  of  the  Sibyl,  inasmuch  as  it  chiefly 
containeth  matters  written  in  verse  ;  and  even  in  prose  it  appeareth  poetical. 
\'ersified  apophthegms  are  always  better  attended  to  than  mere  prosaic  crumbs 
of  comfort  ;  and  we  trust  that  the  "  Songs  of  France,"  which  we  are  about  to 
publish  for  the  patriotic  purpose  above  mentioned,  may  have  the  desired 
effect. 

"  Carmina  vel  coelo  possunt  deduccre  lunam  ; 
Carmine  Di  superi  placantur,  carmine  manes  : 
Ducite  ab  urbe  doimiDi,  mea  carmina,  ducite  Daphnim  ! " 

\A'hen  Saul  went  mad,  the  songs  of  the  poet  David  were  the  only  effectual 
sedatives ;  and  in  one  of  that  admirable  series  of  homiiies  on  Job,  St. 
Chrysostom,  to  fix  the  attention  of  his  auditor)-,  breaks  out  in  fine  style  : 
$£p£  ovv,  oyaTTjjTE,  T7JS  Aa/3i0fcjjs  K'tflapas  avaKpovaiDfxtv  to  d/n\fjiKov  ucXoi, 
/cat  TTiv  avdpwTTLVijv  yoovrt^  TaXatircopiuv  Enrwfiiv,  k-xl  t.  X.  {Serin.  Ilf.  in 
Job.)  These  French  Canticles  are,  in  Prout's  manuscript,  given  with  accom- 
paniment of  introductory  and  explanatory  obser\-ations,  in  which  they  swim 
like  water-fowl  on  the  bosom  of  a  placid  and  pellucid  lake ;  and  to  each  song 
there  is  underwritten  an  English  translation,  like  the  liquid  reflection  of  the 
floating  bird  in  the  water  beneath,  so  as  to  recall  the  beautiful  image  of  the 
swan,  which,  according  to  the  father  of  "  lake  poetry," 

"Floats  double— swan  and  shadow." 

Vale  et  fruere  ! 

OLIVER  YORKE. 

Regent  Street,  ist  Oct.  1834. 


Watergr.\sskill,  Oct.  1833. 

I  HAVE  lived  among  the  French  :  in  the  freshest  dawn  of  early  youth,  in 
the  meridian  hour  of  manhood's  maturity,  my  lot  was  cast  and  my  lines  fell 
on  the  pleasant  places  of  that  once-happy  land.  Full  gladly  have  I  strayed 
among  her  gay  hamlets  and  her  hospitable  chateaux,  anon  breaking  the  brown 
loaf  of  the  peasant,  and  anon  seated  at  the  board  cf  her  noblemen  and  hei 


132  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


pontiffs.     I  have  mixed  industriously  with  every  rank  and  even'  denomination 
of  her  people,  tracing  as  I  went  along  the  peculiar  indications  of  the  Celt  and 
the  Frank,  the  Xormand  and  the  Breton,  the  la7igue  d'oi/i  and  the   langue 
d'oc;  not  at  the  same  time  overlooking   the  endemic  features  of  unnvalled 
Gascony.     The  manufacturing  industry  of  Lyons,  the   Gothic  reminiscences 
of  Tours,  the  historic  associations  of  Orieans,  the  mercantile  enterprise  and 
opulence  of  Bordeaux,  Marseilles,  the  emporium  of  the  Levant,  each  claimed 
my  wonder  in  its  turn.     It  was  a  goodly  scene  !  and,  compared  to  the  ignoble 
and  debased  generation  that  now  usurps  the  soil,  my  recollections  of  ante- 
revolutionarv  France  are  like  dreams  of  an  antediluvian  world.     And  in  those 
days  arose  the  voice  of  song.     The  characteristic  cheerfulness  of  the  country 
found  a  vent  for  its  superabundant  joy  in  jocund  carols,  and  music  was  at 
once  the   offspring  and  the  parent  of  gaiety.      Sterne,  in  his  "Sentimental 
Journey,"  had  seen  the  peasantry  whom  he  so  graphically  describes  in  that 
passage  concerning  a  marriage-feast— a  generous  flagon,   grace  after  meat, 
and  a  dance  on  the  green  turf  under  the  canopy  of  approving  Heaven.     Xor 
did  the  Irish  heart  of  Goldsmith  (who,  like  myself,  rambled  on  the  banks  of 
the  Loire  and  the  Garonne  with  true  pedestrian  philosophy)  fail  to  enter  into 
the  spirit   of  joyous   exuberance   which   animated   the   inhabitants   of    each 
village  through  which  we  passed,  poor  and  penniless,  but  a  poet  ;  and  he  him- 
self Tells  us  that,  with  his  flute  in  his  pocket,  he  might  not  fear  to  quarter 
himself  on  anv  district  in  the  south  of  France,— such  was  the  charm  of  music 
to  the  ear  of  the  natives  in  those  happy  days.     It  surely  was  not  of  France 
that  the  poetic  tourist  spoke  when  he  opened  his  "  Traveller. "  by  those  sweet 
verses  that  tell  of  a  loneliness  little  experienced  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire, 
however  felt  elsewhere  — 

"  Remote,  unfriended,  solitary',  slow  ; 
Or  by  the  lazj'  Scheldt,  or  wandering  Po,"  Sic. 

For  Goldv,  the  village  maiden  lit  up  her  brightest  smiles;  for  him  the  tidy 
housewife,'  "  on  hospitable  cares  intent,"  brought  forth  the  wheaten  loaf  and 
the  well-seasoned  sausage  :  to  welcome  the  foreign  troubadour,  the  master  of 
the  cottage  and  of  the  vineyard  produced  his  best  can  of  wine,  never  loth  for 
an  excuse  to  drain  a  cheerful  cup  with  an  honest  fellow ;  for, 

"  Si  benfe  commemini,  causae  sunt  quinque  bibendi : 
Hospitis  adventus,  prsesens  sitis  atque  futura, 
Vel  vini  bonitas — vel  quaelibet  altera  causa." 

All  this  buoyancy  of  spirits,  all  this  plentiful  gladness,  found  expression  and 
utterance  in  the  national  music  and  songs  of  that  period  ;  which  are  animated 
and  lively  to  excess,  and  bear  testimony  to  the  brisk  current  of  feeling  and  the 
exhilarating  influence  from  which  they  sprung.  Each  season  of  the  happy  year, 
each  incident  of  primitive  and  rural  life,  each  occurrence  in  village  history,  was 
chronicled  in  uncouth  rhythm,  and  chanted  with  choral  glee.  The  baptismal 
holyday,  the  marriage  epoch,  the  soldier's  return,  the  "  patron  saint,"  the  har- 
vest and  the  vintage,  "le  jour  des  rois,"  and  "  le  jour  de  Noel,"  each  was 
ushered  in  with  the  merry  chime  of  parish  bells  and  the  extemporaneous  out- 
break of  the  rustic  muse.  And  when  mellow  autumn  gave  place  to  hoary  winter, 
the  genial  source  of  musical  inspiration  was  not  frozen  up  in  the  hearts  of  the 
young,  nor  was  there  any  lack  of  traditionary  ballads  derived  from  the  memory 
of  the  old. 

"  Ici  le  chanvre  pr^paru 
Tourne  autour  du  fuseau  Gothique, 

Et  sur  un  banc  mal  assure 
La  berg^re  la  plus  antique 

Chante  la  mort  du  '  Balafr6' 
D'une  voix  plaintive  et  tragique." 


The  Songs  of  France. 


OJ 


"  \Mii!e  the  merrj-  fire-blocks  kindle. 
While  the  gudewife  twirls  her  spindle, 
Hark  the  song  which,  nigh  the  embers, 

Singeth  j'onder  withered  crone ; 
Well  1  ween  that  hag  remembers 

Many  a  war-tale  past  and  gone." 

This  characteristic  of  the  inhabitants  of  Gaul,  this  constitutional  attachment 
to  music  and  melody,  has  been  early  noticed  by  the  writers  of  the  middle  ages, 
and  remarked  on  by  her  historians  and  philosophers.  The  eloquent  Salvian  of 
Marseilles  (a.d.  4401,  in  his  book  on  Providence  ("  de  Gubernatione  Dei"), 
says  that  his  fellow-countrymen  had  a  habit  of  drowning  care  and  banishing 
melancholy  with  songs:  "  Cantilenis  infortunia  sua  solantur."  In  the  old 
jurisprudence  of  the  Gallic  code  we  are  told,  by  lawyer  de  Marchangy,  in  his 
work,  "  la  Gaule  Poetique,"  that  all  the  goods  and  chattels  of  a  debtor  could 
be  seized  by  the  creditor,  with  the  positive  exception  of  any  musical  instrument, 
lyre,  bagpipe,  or  flute,  which  happened  to  be  in  the  house  of  misfortune ;  the 
lawgivers  wisely  and  humanely  providing  a  source  of  consolation  for  the  poor 
devil  when  all  was  gone.  We  have  still  some  enactments  of  Charlemagne  in- 
terwoven in  the  labyrinthine  intricacies  of  the  capitularian  law,  having  reference 
to  the  minstrels  of  that  period ;  and  the  song  of  Roland,  who  fell  at  Ronces- 
vaux  with  the  flower  of  Gallic  chivalry,  is  still  sung  by  the  grenadiers  of  France  : 

"  Soldats  Fran9ois,  chantons  Roland, 
L'honneur  de  la  chevalerie,"  Sec,  &c. 

Or,  as  Sir  Walter  Scott  will  have  it,  in  his  "  Marmion  "  (a  couplet  which,  by 
the  way,  he  afterwards  unconsciously  repeated  in  his  "  Rob  Roy"), 

"  O  I  for  a  blast  of  that  wild  horn. 
On  Fontarabia's  echoes  borne,"  &c. 

During  the  crusades  the  minstrelsy  of  France  attained  a  high  degree  of  refine- 
ment, delicacy,  and  vigour.  Never  were  love-adventures,  broken  hearts,  and 
broken  heads  so  plentiful.  The  novelty  of  the  scene,  the  excitement  of  depar- 
ture, the  lover's  farewell,  the  rapture  of  return,  the  pilgrim's  tale,  the  jumble  of 
war  and  devotion,  laurels  and  palm-trees— all  these  matters  "inflamed  the 
imagination  of  the  troubadour,  and  ennobled  the  effusions  of  genius.  Oriental 
laiidscape  added  a  new  charm  to  the  creations  of  poetry,  and  the  bard  of 
chivalrous  Europe,  transported  into  the  scenes  of  voluptuous  Asia,  acquired  a 
new  stock  of  imagery ;  an  additional  chord  would  vibrate  on  his  lyre.  Thie- 
bault,  comte  de  Champagne,  who  swayed  the  destinies  of  the  kingdom  under 
Queen  Blanche,  while  St.  Louis  was  'in  Palestine,  distinguished  himself  not 
only  by  his  patronage  of  the  ttmeftil  tribe,  but  by  his  own  original  compositions; 
many  of  which  I  have  overhauled  among  the  MS'S.  of  the  King's  Library,  when  I 
was  in  Paris.  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  whose  language,  habits,  and  character 
belonged  to  Normandy,  was  almost  asclever  at  aballadas  at  the  battle-axe  :  his 
faithful  troubadour,  Blondel,  acknowledges  his  master's  competency  in  things 
poetical.  But  it  was  reser\-ed  for  the  immortal  Rene  d'Anjou,  called  by  the 
people  of  Provence  le  hon  roy  Rc?ie,  to  confer  splendour  and  eclat  on  the  gentle 
craft,  duringa  reign  of  singular  usefulness  and  popularity.  Hewas,  in  truth,  arare 
personage,  and  well  deserved  to  leave  his  memory  embalmed  in  the  recollection 
of  his  fellow-countrymen.  After  having  fought  in  his  youth  under  Joan  of  Arc, 
in  rescuing  the  territon,-  of  France  from  the  grasp  of  the  invaders,  and  sub- 
sequently in  the  wars  of  Scander  Beg  and  Ferdinand  of  Arragon,  he  spent  the 
latter  part  of  his  eventful  life  in  ditfusing  happiness  among  his  subjects,  and 
making  his  court  the  centre  of  refined  and  classic  enjovment.  Aix  in  Pro- 
vence was  then  the  seat  of  civilization,  and  the  haunt  of  the  Muses.  While  to 
Rene  is  ascribed  the  introduction  and  culture  of  the  mulberrv,  and  the  con- 


134  ^^^^   Woi-ks  of  Father  Proitt. 


sequent  development  of  the  silk-trade  along  the  Rhone,  to  his  fostering  care  the 
poetry  of  France  is  indebted  for  many  of  her  best  and  simplest  productions,  the 
rondeau,  the  madrigal,  the  trlulet,  'the  lay,  the  virelai,  and  other  measures 
equally  melodious.  His  own  ditties  (chiefly  church  hymns)  are  preserved  in 
the  Bibliotheque  du  Roi,  in  his  own  handwriting,  adorned  by  his  royal  pencil 
with  sundry  curious  enluminations  and  allegorical  emblems. 

A  rival  settlement  for  the  "sacred  sisters  "  was  established  at  the  neighbour- 
ing court  of  Avignon,  where  the  temporary  residence  of  the  popes  attracted 
the  learning  of  Italy  and  of  the  ecclesiastical  world.  The  combined  talents  of 
churchmen  and  of  poets  shone  with  concentrated  effulgence  in  that  most 
picturesque  and  romantic  of  cities,  fit  cradle  for  the  muse  of  Petrarch,  and  the 
appropriate  resort  of  every  contemporary  excellence.  The  pontific  presence 
shed  a  lustre  over  this  crowd  of  meritorious  men,  and  excited  a  spirit  of  emu- 
lation in  all  the  walks  of  science,  unknown  in  any  other  European  capital :  and 
to  Avignon  in  those  days  might  be  applied  the  observation  of  a  Latin  poet 
concerning  that  small  town  of  Italy  which  the  residence  of  a  single  important 
personage  .sufficed  to  illustrate  : 

"  Veios  habitaute  Camillo, 
Illic  Roma  fuit." 

LUCAN. 

The  immortal  sonnets  of  Laura's  lover,  \\ritten  in  the  polished  and  elegant 
idiom  of  Lombardy.  had  a  perceptible  effect  in  softening  what  was  harsh,  and 
refining  what  was  uncouth,  in  tlie  love  songs  of  the  troubadours,  whose  lan- 
guage (not  altogether  obsolete  in  Provence  at  the  present  time)  bears  a  close 
affinity  to  the  Italian.  But  this  "light  of  song,"  however  gratifying  to  the 
lover  of  early  literature,  was  but  a  sort  of  crepuscular  brightening,  to  herald 
in  that  full  dawn  of  true  taste  and  knowledge  which  broke  forth  at  the  appear- 
ance of  Francis  I.  and  Leo  X.  Tlien  it  was  that  Europe's  modern  minstrels, 
forming  their  lyric  effusions  on  the  imperishable  models  of  classical  antiquity, 
produced,  for  the  bower  and  the  banquet,  for  the  court  and  the  camp,  strains 
of  unparalleled  sweetness  and  power.  I  have  already  enriched  my  papers  with 
a  specimen  of  the  love-ditties  which  the  amour  of  Francis  and  the  unfortunate 
Comtesse  de  Chateaubriand  gave  birth  to.  The  royal  lover  has  himself  recorded 
his  chivalrous  attachment  to  that  lady  in  a  song  which  is  preserved  among  the 
ISISS.  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  in  the  Bibliotheque  du  Roi.  It  begins 
thus  : 

"  Ores  que  je  la  tiens  sous  ma  loy. 
Plus  je  regne  amant  que  roy. 
Adieu,  visages  de  cour,"  &:c.,  Sec, 

Of  the  songs  of  Henri  Quatre,  addressed  to  Gabrielle  d'Etrees,  and  of  the 
ballads  of  Mary  Stuart,  it  were  almost  superduous  to  say  a  word;  but  in  a 
professed  essay  on  so  interesting  a  subject,  it  would  be  an  unpardonable 
omission  not  to  mention  two  such  illustrious  contributors  to  the  minstrelsy  of 
France. 

From  crowned  heads  the  transition  to  Maitre  Adam  (the  poetic  carpenter)  is 
rather  abrupt ;  but  he  deserves  most  honourable  rank  among  the  tuneful 
brotherhood.  Without  quitting  his  humble  profession  of  a  joiner,  he  published 
a  volume  of  songs  (Rheims,  1650)  under  the  modest  title  of  "  Dry  Chips  and 
Oak  Shavings  from  the  Workshop  of  Adam  Billaud."  Many  of  his  staves  are 
right  well  put  out  of  hand.  But  he  had  been  preceded  by  Clement  Marot,  a 
most  cultivated  poet,  who  had  given  the  tone  to  French  versification.  Malherbe 
was  also  a  capital  lyric  writer  in  the  grandiose  style,  and  at  times  pathetic. 
Then  there  was  Ronsard  and  Panard.  Jean  de  Mcun,  who,  with  Guillaume  de 
Lorris,  concocted  the  "  Roman  de  la  Rose  :"  \'illon,  Charles  d'Orleans,  Grin- 
goire,  Alain  Chartier,  Bertaut,  and  sundry  others  of  the  old  school,  deservedly 


TJie  Songs  of  France. 


135 


challenge  the  antiquan'  and  critic's  conimendntion.  The  subsequent  glories  of 
Voiture,  Scuderi,  Dorat,  Boufflers,  Florian,  Racan,  and  Chalieu,  would  claim 
their  due  share  of  notice,  if  the  modern  lyrics  of  Lamartine,  Victor  Hugo, 
Andre  Chenier,  Chateaubriand,  and  Delavigne,  like  the  rod  of  the  prophet, 
had  not  swallowed  up  the  inferior  spells  of  the  magicians  who  preceded  therru 
But  I  cannot  for  a  moment  longer  repress  my  enthusiastic  admiration  of  one 
who  has  arisen  in  our  days,  to  strike  in  France,  with  a  master-hand,  the  lyre  of 
the  troubadour,  and  to  fling  into  the  shade  all  the  triumphs  of  bygone  min- 
strelsy. Need  I  designate  Beranger,  whc»  has  created  for  himself  a  style  of 
transcendent  vigour  and  originality,  and  who  has  sung  of  li'izr,  love,  and  n'ine, 
in  strains  far  excelling  those  .of  Blondel,  Tyrtceus,  Pindar,  or  the  Teian  bard- 
He  is  now  the  genuine  representative  of  Gallic  poesy  in  her  convivial,  her 
amatory,  her  warlike,  and  her  philosophic  mood  :  and  the  plenitude  of  the 
inspiration  that  dwelt  successively  in  the  souls  of  all  the  songsters  of  ancient 
France  seems  to  have  transmigrated  into  Beranger,  and  found  a  fit  recipient  in 
his  capacious  and  liberal  mind  : 

"  As  some  bright  river,  that,  from  fall  to  fall 
In  many  a  maze  descending,  bright  in  all, 
Finds  some  fair  region,  where,  each  labyrinth  past, 
In  one  full  lake  of  light  it  rests  at  last."  —Ln/la  Rookli. 

I  cannot  resist  the  impulse  which  hurries  me  to  the  perpetration  of  an  assault 
on  the  muse  of  Beranger  :  forcible  abduction  is  here,  if  ever,  justifiable,  and 
she  must  forthwith  cross  the  "Pas  de  Calais,"  nolens  volcns,  into  merry- 
England.  How  shall  we  begin?  Wine  is  the  grand  topic  with  all  poets  (after 
the  ladies)  ;  I  shall  therefore  give  his  account  of  the  introduction  of  the  grape 
into  Burgundy  and  Champagne,  effected  through  the  instrumentality  of  the 
brave  Brennus,  the  Celtic  hero,  and  the  ancestor  of  our  Irish  Brennans. 


BREXXUS. 


O'li  la  Vigne  planiee  dans  les  Gajiles. 


Brennus  disait  aux  bons  Gaulois, 

"Celebrez  un  triomphe  insigne  I 
Les  champs  de  Rome  ont  pave  mes  exploits, 

Et  j'en  rapporte  un  cep  de  vigne  ; 
Prives  de  son  jus  tout-puissant, 

Nous  avons  vaincu  pour  en  boire  ; 
Sur  nos  coteaux  que  le  pampre  naissant 

Serve  a  couronner  la  victoire. 


Un  jour,  par  ce  raisin  vermeil 

Des  peuples  vous  serez  I'envie  \ 
Dans  son  nectar  plein  des  feux  du  soleil 

Tous  les  arts  puiseront  la  vie. 
Quittant  nos  bords  favorises, 

ISIille  vaisseau.x  iront  sur  I'onde 
Charges  de  \-ins  et  de  fleurs  pavoises, 

Porter  la  joie  autour  du  monde. 


THE  SOXG  OF  BRENNUS, 

Or  the  Introduction   of  the   Grape  into 

Ft  ance. 

Tune — "  The  Night  before  Larr^'." 

When  Brennus  came  back  here  from  Rome, 
These  words  he  is  said  to  have  spoken  : 
"We    have    conquered,    my    boysi    aiid 
brought  home 
A  sprig  of  the  vine  for  a  token  ! 
Cheer,  my  hearties  !  and  welcome  to  Gaul 
This  plant,  which  we  won  from  the  foe- 
man  ; 
Tis  enough  to  repay  us  for  all 

Our  trouble  in  beating  the  Roman  ; 

Bless  the  gods,  and  bad  luck  to 
the  geese  ! 

O  !  take  care  to  treat  well  the  fair  guest. 
From  the  blasts  of  the  north  to  protect 
her  ; 
Of  your  hillocks,  the  sunniest  and  best 
Zviake   them  hers,  for  the  sake  of  he- 
nectar. 
She  shall  nurse  your  j'oung  Gauls  with  her 
juice  ; 
Give  life  to  '  the  arts '  in  libations ; 
While  your   ships   round  the  globe  shall 
produce 
Her  goblet  of  joy  for  all  nations — 

E'en    the  foeman   shall   taste  of 
our  cup. 


136 


The    Works  of  Father  Front. 


Bacchus  !  embellis  nos  destins  I 

Un  peuple  hospitalier  te  prie, 
Fais  qu'un  proscrit,  assis  a  nos  festins, 

Oublie  un  moment  sa  pstrie." 
Erennus  alors  bennit  les  Cieux, 

Creuse  la  terre  avec  sa  lance, 
Plante  la  vigne  !  et  les  Gaulois  joyeux 

Dans  I'avenir  ont  vu  "La  France  !  " 


The  exile  who  flies  to  our  hearth 

She  shall  soothe,  all  his  sorrows  redress- 

For  the  vine  is  the  parent  of  mirth, 

And  to  sit  in  its  shade  is  a  blessing." 
So  the  soil  Brennus  dug  with  his  lance, 
'Mid  the  crowd  of  Gaul's  warriors  and 
sages ; 

And  our  forefathers  grim,  of  gay  France 
Got    a    glimpse    through    the    vista   of 
ages—  _ 

And  it  gladdened  the    hearts  of 
the  Gauls  ! 

Such  is  the  classical  and  profound  ransfe  of  thought  in  which  Beranger  loves 
to  indulge,  amid  the  unpretending  effusions  of  a  professed  drinking  song; 
embodying  his  noble  and.patriotic  aspirations  in  the  simple  form  of  an  historical 
anecdote,  or  a  light  and  fanciful  allegory.  He  abounds  in  philanthropic  senti- 
ments and  generous  outburst?  of  passionate  eloquence,  whict  come  on  the 
feelings  unexpectedly,  and  never  fail  to  proauce  a  corresponding  excitement  in 
the  heart  of  the  listener.  I  shall  shortly  return  to  his  glorious  canticles  ;  but 
meantime,  as  we  are  on  the  chapter  of  wine,  by  way  of  contrast  to  the  style  of 
Beranger,  I  may  be  allowed  to  introduce  a  drinking  ode  of  a  totally  different 
character,  and  which,  from  its  odd  and  original  conceptions,  and  harmless 
jocularity,  I  think  deserving  of  notice.  It  is,  besides,  of  more  ancient  date  ; 
and  my  English  version  has  been  therefore  set  to  the  old  tune  of  "  Life  let  us 
cherish." 


LES  ELOGES  DE  L'EAU. 


II  pleut !  il  pleut  enfin  ! 

Et  la  vigne  alteree 

Va  se  voir  restauree 
Par  un  bienfait  divin. 
De  I'eau  chantons  la  gloire. 

On  la  meprise  en  vain, 
C'est  I'eau  qui  nous  fait  boire 

Du  vin  !  du  vin  !  du  vin  ! 

C'est  par  I'eau,  j'en  conviens, 

Que  Dieu  fit  le  deluge  ; 

Mais  ce  souverain  Juge 
Mit  le  mal  pres  du  bien  ! 
Du  deluge  I'histoire 

Fait  naitre  le  raisin  ; 
C'est  I'eau  qui  nous  fait  boire 

Du  vin  !  du  vin  I  du  vin  ! 

Ah  !  combien  je  jouls  » 
Quand  la  riviere  apporte 
Des  vins  de  toute  sorte 

Et  de  tous  les  pays  ! 

Ma  cave  est  mon  armoire — 
A  I'instant  tout  est  plein  ; 

C'est  I'eau  qui  nous  fait  boire 
Du  vin  !  du  vin  !  du  vin  ! 

Par  un  tems  sec  et  beau 
I^  meunier  du  village, 
Se  morfond  sans  ouvrage, 

II  ne  boit  que  de  I'eau  ; 


WINE  DEBTOR  TO  WATER. 

Air— "Life  let  us  cherish." 

Rain  best  doth  nourish 

Earth's  pride,  the  budding  vine  ! 
Grapes  best  will  flourish 

On  which  the  dew-drops  shine. 
Then  why  should  water  meet  with  scorn. 

Or  why  its  claims  to  praise  resign? 
When  from  that  bounteous  source  is  bom 

The  vine  !  the  vine  !  the  vine  ! 

Rain  best  disposes 

Earth  for  each  blos-^om  and  each  bud  ; 
True,  we  are  told  by  Moses, 

Once  it  brought  on  "  a  flood  :  " 
But  while  that  flood  did  all  immerse, 

All  save  old  Noah's  holy  line, 
Pray  read  the  chapter  and  the  verse — 

The  vine  is  there  !  the  vine  ! 

Wine  by  water-carriage 

Round  the  globe  is  best  conveyed  ; 
Then  why  disparage 

A  path  for  old  Bacchus  made  ? 
When  in  our  docks  the  cargo  lands 

Which  foreign  merchants  here  consign, 
The  wine's  red  empire  wide  expands — 

I'he  vine  !  the  vine  !  the  vine  ! 

Rain  makes  the  miller 

Work  his  glad  wheel  the  livelong  day; 
Rain  brinies  the  siller. 

And  drives  dull  care  away  : 


Tlie  Songs  of  France. 


137 


II  rentre  dans  sa  gloire 

Quand  I'eau  rentre  au  moulin  ; 
C'est  I'eau  qui  lui  fait  "boire 

Du  vin  I  du  vin  !  du  vin  ! 

Faut-il  un  trait  nouveau  ? 

]Mes  amis,  je  le  guette  ; 

Voyez  a  la  guinguette 
Entrer  ce  porteur  d'eau ! 
II  y  p>erd  la  memoire 

Des  travaux  du  matin  ; 
Cest  I'eau  qui  lui  fait  boire 

Du  vin  I  du  vin  !  du  vin ! 

Mais  cl  vous  chanter  I'eau 

Je  sens  que  je  m'altere  ; 

Donnez  moi  ^^te  une  verre 
Du  doux  jus  du  tonneau  — 
Ce  vin  \-ient  de  la  Loire, 

Ou  bien  des  bords  du  Rhin  ; 
C'est  I'eau  qui  nous  fait  boire 

Du  vin  !  du  vin  !  du  vin  ! 


For  without  rain  he  lacks  the  stream. 
And  fain  o'er  waterj'  cups  must  pine  ; 

But  when  it  rains,  he  courts,  I  deem. 
The  vine  !  the  \'ine  I  the  ^•ine  I  * 

Though  all  good  judges 

Water's  worth  now  understand, 
Mark  yon  chiel  who  drudges 

With  buckets  in  each  hand  ; 
Ke  toils  with  ivater  through  the  town. 

Until  he  spies  a  certain  "sign," 
Where  entering,  all  his  labour  done. 

He  drains  thy  juice,  O  vine  I 

But  pure  water  singing 

Dries  full  soon  the  poet's  tongue  ; 
So  crown  all  by  bringing 

A  draught  drawn  from  the  bung 
Of  j-onder  cask,  that  wine  contains 

Of  Loire's  good  \intage  or  the  Rhine, 
Queen  of  whose  teeming  margin  reigns 

The  vine  !  the  vine  !  the  vine  ! 


It  must  be  acknowledged  that  even  Pindar  himself,  when  he  struck  the 
glorious  key-note  of  Apicr-rov  fisu  vcwp,  produced  a  more  complimentary 
paneg}-ric  on  the  liquid  element  than  our  French  songster.  But  it  is  not  merely 
on  water  that  the  French  have  shown  more  talent  than  the  illustrious  Boeotian, 
for  on  horses,  also,  they  have  completely  thrown  him  into  the  shade.  This  is 
what  I  call  fighting  with  the  Grecian  cock  on  his  own  favourite  dunghill,  and 
beating  hini  in  his  own  stable-yard.  The  "  Olympic  Races"  never  furnished  a 
more  subUme  equestrian  ode  than  the  celebrated  song  of  the  "  Cossack  to  his 
Horse,"  by  Beranger,  and  Pindar's  Racins;  Calendar,  ox  \\iq.  Sporting  Magazine 
of  Greece  may  be  searched  in  vain  for  anything  superior  in  the  way  of  horse 
poetry.  Homer  may  talk  of  his  Hector — 'E»cto/3os  iTnroca/j.\poto — but  the 
Tartar  jockey  from  the  river  Don  beats  the  Trojan  hollow.  Turpin's  "  Black 
Bess"  is  the  only  modern  attempt  that  can  compare  to 


LE    CHANT    DU    COSAQUE. 

Viens,  mon  coursier,  noble  ami  du  Cosaque, 

Vole  au  signal  des  trompettes  du  nord  ; 
Prompt  au  pillage,  intrepide  a  I'attaque, 

Prete  sous  moi  des  ailes  a  la  mort. 
L'or  n'enrichit  ni  ton  frein  ni  ta  selle, 

Alais  attends  tout  du  prix  de  mes  exploits  : 
Hennis  d'orgueil,  6  mon  coursier  fidele, 

Et  foule  aux  pieds  les  peuples  et  les  rois. 

La  paLx  qui  fuit  m'abandonne  tes  guides, 

La  vieille  Europe  a  perdu  ses  remparts  ; 
Viens  de  tresors  combler  mes  mains  avides, 

Viens  reposer  dans  I'asile  des  arts, 

•  This  idea,  containing  an  apparent  paradox,  has  been  frequently  worked  up  in  the 
quaint  wTiting  of  the  middle  ages.  There  is  an  old  Jesuits'  riddle,  which  I  learnt  among 
■other  wise  saws  at  their  colleges,  from  which  it  will  appear  that  this  Miller  is  a  regular 
Joe. 

Q.   "  Suave  bibo  ^^num  quoties  mihi  suppetit  imda  : 
Undaque  si  desit,  quid  bibo  ?  " 

J?.  '■  Tristris  aquam  I  " 

Prout. 


1-138 


TJie  ]Vo7'ks  of  FatJicr  Front. 


Rctourne  boire  a  la  Seine  rebelle, 

Ou,  tout  sanglant,  tu  t'cs  lave  deux  fois  ; 
Hennis  dorgueil,  o  mon  coursier  lidele, 

Et  foule  aux  pieds  les  peuples  at  les  rois. 

Comme  en  un  fort,  princes,  nobles,  et  pretres, 

Tous  assleges  par  leurs  sujets  souffrans, 
Xous  ont  crie  :  Venez.  soyez  nos  maitres — 

Nous  serons  serfs  pour  demeurer  tyrans  I 
J'ai  pris  ma  lance,  et  tous  vout  devant  elle 

Humilier,  et  le  sceptre  et  la  croix  : 
Hennis  d'orgueil,  6  mon  coursier  fidfele, 

Et  foule  aux  pieds  les  peuples  et  les  rois. 

J'ai  d'un  geant  vu  le  fant6me  immense 

Sur  nos  bivouacs  fixer  un  ceil  ardent ; 
II  s'ecria  :  Mon  regne  recommence  ; 

Et  de  sa  hache  il  montrait  I'Occident ; 
Da  roi  des  Huns  c'etait  I'ombre  immortelle  ; 

Fils  d'Attila,  j'obeis  a  sa  voix 
Hennis  d'orgueil,  6  mon  coursier  fidele, 

Et  foule  aux  pieds  les  peuples  et  les  rois. 

Tout  cet  eclat  dent  I'Europe  est  si  fiere, 
'  Tout  ce  savoir  qui  ne  la  defend  pas, 

S'engloutira  dans  les  flots  de  poussiere 

Qu'autour  de  moi  vont  soulever  tes  pas 
Efiace,  efface,  en  la  course  nouvelle, 

Temples,  palais,  moeurs,  souvenirs,  et  lols  ! 
Hennis  d'orgueil,  6  mon  coursier  fidfele, 

Et  foule  aux  pieds  les  peuples  et  les  rois. 

THE    SOXG   OF    THE   COSSACK. 

Come,  arouse  thee  up,  my  gallant  horse,  and  bear  thy  rider  on  I 
The  comrade  t.lou,  and  the  friend,  I  trow,  of  the  dweller  on  the  Don. 
Pillage  and  Death  have  spread  their  wings  !  'tis  the  hour  to  hie  thee  forth. 
And  with  thy  hoofs  an  echo  wake  to  the  trumpets  of  the  North  ! 
Nor  gem.s  nor  gold  do  men  behold  upon  thy  saddle-tree  : 
But  earth  affords  the  wealth  of  lords  for  thy  master  and  for  thee. 
Then  fiercely  neigh,  my  charger  grey  1 — thy  chest  is  proud  and  ample  ; 
Thy  hoofs  shall  prance  o'er  the  fields  of  France,  and  the  pride  of  her  heroes  trample ! 

Europe  is  weak — she  hath  grown  old — her  bulwarks  are  laid  low  ; 
iihe  is  loth  to  hear  the  blast  of  war — she  shrinketh  from  a  foe  ! 
Come,  in  our  turn,  let  us  sojourn  in  her  goodly  haunts  of  joy — 
In  the  pillar'd  porch  to  wave  the  torch,  and  her  palaces  destroy  ! 
Proud  as  when  first  thou  slak'dst  thy  thirst  in  the  flow  of  conquer 'd  Seine, 
Aye  shalt  thou  lave,  within  that  wave,  thy  blood-red  flanks  again. 
Then  fiercely  neigh,  my  gallant  grey  I — thy  chest  is  strong  and  ample  I 
'Jhy  hoofs  shall  prance  o'er  the  fields  of  France,  and  the  pride  of  her  heroes  trample  ! 

Kings  are  beleaguer'd  on  their  thrones  by  their  own  vassal  crew  ; 
And  in  their  den  quake  no'olfcmen,  and  priests  are  bearded  too  ; 
And  loud  they  yelp  for  the  Cossack's  help  to  keep  their  bondsmen  down, 
And  they  think  it  meet,  while  they  kiss  our  feet,  to  wear  a  tyrant's  crown  ! 
The  sceptre  now  to  my  lance  shall  bow,  and  the  crosier  and  the  cross 
.Shall  bend  alike  when  I  lift  my  pike,  and  aloft  that  sceptre  toss  ! 
Then  proudly  neigh,  my  gallant  grey  ! — thy  chest  is  broad  and  ample  ; 
Thy  hoofs  shall  prance  o'er  the  fie'ds  of  France,  and  the  pride  of  her  heroes  trample  ! 

In  a  night  of  storm  I  have  seen  a  form  ! — and  the  figure  was  a  giant, 
And  his  eye  was  bent  on  the  Cossack's  tent,  and  his  look  was  all  defiant ; 
Kingly  his  crest— and  towards  the  West  with  his  battle-axe  he  pointed  ; 
And  the  "  form  "  I  saw  ivas  Attil.\  I  of  this  earth  the  scourge  anointed. 


TJic  Songs  of  France.  139 

From  the  Cossack's  camp  let  the  horseman's  tramp  the  coming  crash  announce  ; 
Let  the  vulture  whet  his  beak  bharp  set,  on  the  carrion  field  to  pcimce  ; 
And  proudly  neigh,  my  charger  grey  ! — O  I  thy  chest  is  broad  and  ample  ; 
Thy  hoofs  shall  prance  o'er  the  fields  of  France,  and  the  pride  of  her  heroes  trample  ! 

A\'hat  boots  old  Europe's  boasted  fame,  on  which  she  builds  reliance, 
When  the  North  shall  launch  its  avalaticJie  on  her  works  of  art  and  science  ? 
Hath  she  not  wept  her  cities  swept  'oy  our  hordes  of  trampling  stallions? 
And  tower  and  arch  crushed  in  the  march  of  our  barbarous  battalions  i 
Can  loe  not  wield  our  fathers'  shield  ?  the  same  war-hatchet  handle  ? 
Do  our  blades  want  length,  or  the  reapers'  strength,  for  the  harvest  of  the  Vandal ? 
Then  proudly  neigh,  my  gallant  grey,  for  thy  chest  is  strong  and  ample  ; 
And  thy  hoofs  shall  prance  o'er  the  fields  of  France,  and  the  pride  of  her  heroes  trample  ! 

In  the  foregoing  glorious  song  of  the  Cossack  to  his  Korse,  Beranger  appears 
to  me  to  have  signally  evinced  that  peculiar  talent  discoverable  in  most  of  his 
lyrical  impersonations,  which  enables  him  so  completely  to  identify  himself 
with  the  character  he  undertakes  lo  portray,  that  the  poet  is  lost  sight  of  in  the 
all-absorbing  splendour  of  the  theme.  Here  we  have  the  mind  hmxied  away 
with  irresistible  grasp,  and  flung  down  among  the  wild  scenery  of  the  river 
Don,  amid  the  tents  of  the  Scythians  and  an  encampment  of  the  Xorth.  If  we 
are  sufficiently  dull  to  resist  the  impulse  that  would  transport  our  rapt  soul  to 
the  region  of  the  poet  s  inspiration,  still,  even  on  the  quiet  tympanum  of  our 
effeminate  ear,  there  cometh  the  sound  of  a  barbarian  cavalry,  heard  most  fear- 
fully distinct,  thundering  along  the  rapid  and  sonorous  march  of  the  stanza; 
the  terrific  spectre  of  the  King  of  the  Huns  frowns  on  our  stanled  fancy  :  and 
we  look  on  this  sudden  outpouring  of  Beranger's  tremendous  poetry  with  the 
sensation  of  Virgil's  shepherd,  awed  at  the  torrent  that  sweeps  down  the 
Apennines, — 

"  Stupet  inscius  alto 
Accipiens  sonitum  saxi  de  vertice  pastor." 

There  is  more  where  that  came  from.  And  if,  instead  of  oriental  imagery  and 
"barbaric  pearl  and  gold,"  camels,  palm-trees,  bulbuls,  houris,  frankincense, 
silver  veils,  and  other  gewgaws  with  which  Tom  Moore  has  glutted  the  market 
of  literature  in  his  "  Lalla  Rookh,"  we  could  prevail  on  our  poetasters  to  use 
sterner  stuff,  to  dig  the  iron  mines  of  the  Xorth,  and  send  their  Pegasus  to  a 
week's  training  among  the  Cossacks,  rely  on  it  we  should  have  more  vigour  and 
energy  in  the  bone  and  muscle  of  the  winged  animal.  Drawing-room  poets 
should  partake  of  the  rough  diet  and  masculine  beverage  of  this  hardy  tribe, 
whose  cookery  has  been  described  in  "  Hudibras,"  and  of  whom  the  swan  of 
Mantua  gently  singeth  with  becoming  admiration  : 

"  Et  lac  concretum  cum  sanguine  potat  equino." 

Lord  Byron  is  never  more  spirited  and  vigorous  than  when  he  recounts  the 
catastrophe  of  Mazeppa;  and  in  the  whole  of  tliat  sublime  rhapsody,  the 
"  Pilgrimage  of  Childe  Harold,"  there  is  not  a  line  (where  .-:// is  breathing  the 
loftiest  enthusiasm  and  rapture)  to  be  compared  to  his  northern  slave,  his 
"d}ing  gladiator," 

"  Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holj-day  ! " 

Oh  !  he  is  truly  great,  when,  in  the  fulness  of  prophetic  inspiration,  he  calls  on 
the  Goths  to  "  arise  and  glut  their  ire  !  "  However,  I  hope  none  will  attempt 
to  woo  the  muse  of  the  5sorth,  unless  poets  of  solid  pretensions  and  capabiH- 
ties  :  if  Tom  Moore  were  to  present  himself  to  the  nymph's  notice,  I  fear  he 
would  catch  a  Tartar. 


140  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 


This  dissertation  has  led  me  away  from  the  subject-matter  of  my  essays,  to 
which  I  faithfully  return.  The  "Songs  of  France,"  properly  so  called,  exhibit 
a  fund  of  inexhaustible  good-liuniour,  at  the  same  time  that  they  are  fraught 
with  the  most  exalted  philosophy.  Addison  has  written  with  a  "commentary  " 
on  the  ballad  of  "  Chevy  Chase  ;"  and  the  public  is  indebted  to  liim  for  having 
revealed  the  recondite  value  of  that  excellent  old  chant  :  but  there  is  a  French 
Ivrical  composition  coeval  with  the  English  ballad  aforesaid,  and  containing  at 
least  an  equal  quantity  of  contemporary  wisdom.  The  opening  verses  may 
give  a  specimen  of  its  wonderful  range  of  thought.     They  run  thus  : 

"  Le  bon  roy  Dagobert 
Avait  mis  sa  culotte  Ii  I'envers  : 
Le  bon  Saint  Eloy 
Lui  dit,  '  O  mon  roy  ! 
Votre  majeste 
S'est  mal  culotte  ! ' 
'  Eh  bien,'  dit  ce  bon  roy, 
'  Je  vais  la  remettre  a  rendroit.'"  * 

I  do  not,  as  in  other  cases,  follow  up  this  French  quotationby  a  literal  version 
of  its  meaning  in  English,  for  several  reasons  ;  of  which  the  principal  is,  that 
I  intend  to  revert  to  the  song  itself  in  my  second  chapter,  when  I  shall  come  to 
treat  of  "frogs"  and  "wooden  shoes."  But  it  maybe  well  to  instruct  the 
superficial  reader,  that  in  this  apparently  simple  stanza  there  is  a  deep  blow 
aimed  at  the  imbecihty  of  the  then  reigning  monarch  ;  and  that  under  the 
culotte  there  lieth  much  hidden  mystery,  explained  by  one  Sartor  Resartus, 
Professor  Teufelsdrijckh,  a  German  philosopher. 

Confining  myself,  therefore,  for  the  present,  to  zi'ine  and  ica/',  I  proceed  to 
give  a  notable  ivar-soiig,  of  which  the  tune  is  well  known  throughout  Europe, 
but  the  words  and  the  poetry  are  on  the  point  of  being  effaced  from  the  super- 
ficial memory  of  this  flimsy  generation.  By  my  recording  them  in  these  papers, 
posterity  will  not  be  deprived  of  their  racy  humour  and  exquisite  naivete: 
nor  shall  a  /iiture  age  be  reduced  to  confess  with  the  interlocutor  in  the 
"  Eclogues,"  "  niuneros  uemini,  si  verba  tenerem."     Who  has  not  hummed  in 

*  Dagobert  II.,  King  of  Australisia,  was  conve^'ed  away  in  his  infancy  to  Ireland, 
according  to  the  historians  of  the  country,  by  orders  of  a  designing  inairc  du  pnlais, 
who  wished  to  get  rid  of  him.  (See  IMezeray,  "Hist,  de  Fran.;"  the  Jesuit  Daniel, 
"Hist.  Fran.;"  and  Abbe  Mac  Geoghehan,  "Hist,  d'lrlande.")  He  was  educated  at 
the  school  of  Lismore,  so  celebrated  by  the  venerable  Cede  as  a  college  of  European 
reputation.  His  peculiar  manner  of  wearing  his  trousers  would  seem  to  have  been 
learned  in  Cork.  St.  Kloi  was  a  brassfounder  and  a  tinker.  He  is  the  patron  of  the 
Dublin  corporation  guild  of  smiths,  who  call  him  (ignorantly)  St.  Loy.  This  saint  was 
a  good  Latin  poet.  The  king,  one  day  going  into  his  chariot,  a  clumsy  contrivance, 
described  by  Boileau — 

"  Quatre  boeufs  attel6s,  d'un  pas  tranquil  et  lent, 
Promenaient  dans  Paris  le  monarque  indolent " — 

was,  as  usual,  attended  by  his  favourite,  Eloi,  and  jokingly  asked  him  to  make  a  couplet 
extempore  before  the  drive.  Eloi  stipulated  for  the  wages  of  song  ;  and  having  got  a 
promise  of  the  two  oxen,  launched  out  into  the  following  apostrophe — 

"  Ascendit  Dagobert,  veniat  bos  unus  et  alter 
In  nostrum  stabulum,  carpere  ibi  pabulum  !" 

King  Dagobert  was  not  a  b  id  hand  at  Latin  verses  himself,  for  he  is  supposed  to  have 
written  that  exquisite  elegy  sung  at  the  dirge  for  the  dead — 

"  Dies  irae,  dies  ilia 

Solvet  sa;chim  in  faviilil. 
Teste  David  cum  sil)ylla,"  &c., 

which  has  been  translated  by  Lord  Roscommon.  —  Prout. 


The  Songs  of  FraJice. 


141 


his  lifetime  the  immortal  air  of  Malbrouck  ?  Still,  if  the  best  antiquary  were 
called  on  to  supply  the  original  poetic  composition,  such  as  it  burst  on  the 
world  in  the  decline  of  the  classic  era  of  Queen  Anne  and  Louis  XIV.,  I  fear 
he  would  be  unable  to  gratify  the  curiosity  of  an  eager  public  in  so  interesting 
an  inquir}^  For  many  reasons,  therefore,  it  is  highly  meet  and  proper  that  I 
should  consign  it  to  the  imperishable  tablets  of  these  written  memorials  :  and 
here,  then,  followeth  the  song  of  the  lamentable  death  of  the  illustrious  John 
Churchill,  which  did  7iot  take  place,  by  some  mistake,  but  was  nevertheless 
celebrated  as  follows  : 


MALBROUCK. 

^y   "'  toiick  s'en  va-t-en  guerre, 

-  i:  :    n  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

.Maiorouck  s'en  va-t-en  guerre. 

On  n's9ait  quand  il  reviendra.  [tej: 

II  reviendra  a  Paques, 

I\Ii  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

II  reviendra  a  Paques, 

Ou  a  la  Trinite.  [icr. 

La  Trinite  se  passe, 

Wi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine. 

La  IVinite  se  passe, 

Malbrouck  ne  revient  pas.  \_ter. 

Madame  a  sa  tour  monte. 

Mi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

IMadame  a  sa  tour  monte, 

Le  plus  haut  qu'on  pent  monter.  \_fer. 

Elle  voit  venir  un  page, 

IMi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

Elle  voit  venir  un  page 

De  noir  tout  habille.  [fei: 

Mon  page,  6  mon  beau  page, 

Mi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

Mon  page,  o  mon  beau  page, 

Quelle  nouvcile  apportez?  \_ier. 

La  nouvelle  que  j'apporte. 

Mi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

La  nouvelle  que  j'apporte 

Vos  beaux  yeux  vont  pleurer.  [ter. 

Monsieur  INIalbrouck  est  mort, 

Mi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

^ilonsieur  ^lalbrouck  est  mort. 

Est  mort  et  enterre.*  [fer. 

Je  Fai  vu  porter  en  terre, 

Mi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

Je  I'ai  vu  porter  en  terre 

Par  quatrez'  ofnciers.  \_ter. 

L'un  portait  son  grand  sabre, 

IMi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

L'un  portait  son  grand  sabre, 

L'autre  son  bouclier.  [ter. 


MALBROUCK. 

JMalbrouck,  the  prince  of  commanders, 
Is  gone  to  the  war  in  Flanders  ; 
His  fame  is  like  Alexander's  ; 

But  when  will  he  come  home  ?  [ter. 

Perhaps  at  Trinity  Feast,  or 
Perhaps  he  may  come  at  Easter. 
Egad  '  he  had  better  make  haste,  or 
We  fear  he  may  never  come.  [ier 

For  "Trinity  Feast  "  is  over. 

And  has  brought  no  news  from  Dover  ; 

And  Easter  is  past,  moreover. 

And  Malbrouck  still  delays.  {fer. 

Milady  in  her  watch-tower 
.'Spends  many  a  pensive  hour, 
Not  well  knowing  why  or  how  her 

Dear  lord  from  England  stays.  [ter. 

While  sitting  quite  forlorn  in 
That  tower,  she  spies  returning 
A  page  clad  in  deep  mourning. 

With  fainting  steps  and  slow.  \_iei'. 

"  O  page,  prithee,  come  faster, — ■ 

What  news  do  j^ou  bring  of  your  master  ? 

I  fear  there  is  some  disaster, 

Vour  looks  are  so  full  of  woe."  [ter. 

"The  news  I  bring,  fair  lady," 
With  sorrowful  accent  said  he, 
"Is  one  you  are  not  ready 
So  soon,  alas  I  to  hear.  [ter. 

But  since  to  speak  I'm  huiTied," 
Added  this  page,  quite  flurried, 
"  Malbrouck  is  dead  and  buried  !  " — 
(And  here  he  shed  a  tear.)  [ter. 

"  He's  dead  !  he's  dead  as  a  herring  I 
For  I  beheld  his  '  herring,' 
And  four  officers  tran>ferring 

His  corpse  away  from  the  field.         [ter. 

One  officer  carried  his  sabre. 
And  he  carried  it  not  without  labour, 
JNIuch  en\ying  his  next  neighbour. 
Who  only  bore  a  shield.  [ter. 


Ketrai  ITaTpo/C/Vo;'  vexvo;  Sij  a\x^{.\La\cv7ci 
Tvfj.vov'  arap  ra  ye  tsvx^'  ^X^*-  fopuflatoAos  'Efcrwp. 


142 


The  Wo7'ks  of  FatJier  Front. 


I.e  troisieme  son  casque, 

Mi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

Le  troisifeme  son  casque, 

Panache  renverse.  [ie7: 

L'autre,  je  ne  s^ais  pas  bien, 

Mi  ron  ton,  ton  ton,  mi  ron  taine, 

L'autre,  je  ne  scjais  pas  bien, 

Mais  je  croix  qu'il  ne  portait  rien.         [to: 


The  third  was  helmet-bearer— 
I'hat  helmet  which  on  its  wearer 
Filled  all  who  saw  with  terror. 
And  covered  a  hero's  brains. 


[icr. 


Now,  having  got  so  far,  I 
Find  that  (by  the  Lord  Harrj- !) 
T!\\&/o2irtk  is  left  nothing  to  carry  ; 

So  there  the  thing  remains."  [L-r. 


Such,  O  phlegmatic  inhabitants  of  these  countries  !  is  the  celebrated 
funeral  song  of  jMalbrouck.  It  is  what  we  would  in  Ireland  call  a  keen  over 
the  dead,  with  this  difference,  that  the  lamented  deceased  is,  among  us, 
generally  dead  outright,  with  a  hole  in  his  skull;  whereas  the  subject  of  the 
jxithetic  elegy  of  "  Monsieur"  was,  at  the  time  of  its  composition,  both  alive 
and  kicking  all  before  him.  It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  learn,  that  both 
the  tune  and  the  words  were  composed  as  a  "  lullaby"  to  set  the  infant  Dau- 
phin to  sleep  ;  and  that,  having  succeeded  in  the  object  of  soporific  efficacy,  the 
poetess  (for  some  make  Madame  de  Sevigne  the  authoress  of  "  Malbrouck," 
she  being  a  sort  of  L.  E.  L.  in  her  day)  deemed  historical  accuracy  a  minor 
consideration.  It  is  a  singular  fact,  which  I  have  learnt  among  other  matters 
from  my  esteemed  friend  James  Roche,  Esq.,  that  this  tune  is  the  only  one 
relished  by  the  South  Sea  Islanders,  who  find  it  "  most  musical,  most  rnelan- 
choly." 

There  is  nothing  like  variety  in  a  Hterary  composition  ;  and  as  we  have  just 
given  a  war-song,  or  a  lullaby,  we  shall  introduce  a  difl'erent  subject,  to  avoid 
monotony  and  to  break  the  uniformity  of  our  essay.  We  shall  therefore  give 
the  poet  Beranger's  famous  ode  to  Dr.  Lardner,  concerning  his  "Cyclopcedia," 
which  is  little  known  to  the  British  public,  but  is  highly  deserving  of  notice. 
The  occasion  which  gave  rise  to  this  lyrical  eflusion  was  the  recent  trip  of 
Dionysius  Eardner  to  Paris,  and  his  proposal  (conveyed  through  Dr.  Bowring) 
to  Beranger.  of  a  handsome  remuneration,  if  the  poet  would  sing  or  say  a  good 
word  about  his  "Cabinet  Cyclopaedia,"  which  Dr.  Bowring  translated  as  "son 
Encyclopedie  des  Cabinets"  {<:\\\qx\,  d' aisancc  ?).  Lardner  gave  the  poet  a 
dinner  on  the  strength  of  the  expected  commendatory  poem,  when  the  follow- 
ing song  was  composed  after  the  third  bottle  : 


L'EPEE  DE  DAMOCLES. 


De  Damocles  I'ep^e  est* bien  connue. 

En  songe  a  table  il  m'a  semble  la  voir  ; 
Sons  cette  epee  et  menacj-ante  et  nue, 

Denis  I'ancien  me  for(;ait  a.  m'asseoir. 
Je  m'ticriais  que  mon  destin  s'achJive — 

La   coupe  en  main,  au  dou.x  bruit  ces 
concerts, 
O  vleu.\  Denis,  je  me  ris  de  ton  glaive, 

je  bois,  je  chante,  et  je  siffle  tes  vers  ! 


"Que   du   m^pris  la  haine  au  moins  me 
sauve  ! " 
Dit  ce  pedant,  qui  rompt  un  fil  leger ; 
Le  fer  pesant  tombe  sur  ma  tote  chauve, 
J'entends  ces  mots,  "  Dtnis  s<jait  se  ven- 
;:er  !  " 


THE     DINNER    OF    DIONY- 
SIUS. 

O  !  who  hath  not  heard  of  the  sword  which 
old  Dennis 
Hung  ove/  the  head  of  a  stoic? 
And  how  the  stern  sage  bore  that  terrible 
menace 
With  a  fortitude  not  quite  heroic? 
There's  a  Dennis  the  "tyrant  of  Cecily  " 
hight, 
(Most  sincerely  I  pity  his  lady,  ah  !) 
Now  this  Dennis  is  doom'd  for  his  sins  to 
indite 
A  "Cabinet  Cyclopaedia." 

He  press'd  me  to  dine,  and  he  placed  on 
my  head 
An  appropriate  garland  of  poppies  ; 
And,  lo  !  from  the  ceiling  there  hung  by  a 
thread 
A  bale  of  unsalable  copies. 


The  Sojigs  of  France.  143 


]Me  voila  raort  et  poursuivant  mon  reve—  "  Puff  my  writings,"  he  cried,  "or  your 

La  coupe  en  main,  je  repete  aux  enfers,  skull  shall  be  crushed  1 " 

O  vieux  Denis,  je  me  ris  de  ton  glaive,  "That  I  cannot,"  I  answer'd,  with  honesty 

Je  bois,  je  chaute,  et  je  sifiletes  vers!  flushed.  _  rr-,     ,        ,   , 

"  Be  your  name  Dionysms  or  T hady,  ah  ! 
Old  Dennis,  my  boy,  though  I  were  to  en- 
joy 
But  o>ic  glass  and  one  song,  still  cw^  laugh, 
loud  and  long, 
I  should  have  at  your  '  Cyclopaedia.'" 

So  adieu,  Dr.  Lardner,  for  the  present,  ass  in  prccscnti ;  and  turn  we  to 
other  topics  of  song. 

In  this  "Ode  to  Dr.  Lardner"  the  eye  of  the  connoisseur  has  no  doubt 
detected  sundry  latent  indications  of  the  poet's  wonderful  cleverness  and  con- 
summate drollerv;  but  it  is  in  ennobhng  insignificant  subjects  by  reference  to 
historical  anecdote  and  cTassic  allegory,  that  the  delicate  tact  and  singular 
ability  of  Beranger  are  to  be  admired.  It  will  be  in  the  recollection  of  those 
who  have  read  the  accomplished  fabulist  of  Rome,  Phosdrus,  that  he  commends 
Simonides  of  Cos  for  his  stratagem,  when  hired  to  sing  the  praise  of  some 
obscure  candidate  for  the  honours  of  the  Olympic  race-course.  The  bard, 
finding  no  material  for  verse  in  tlie  life  of  his  vulgar  hero,  launched  forth  into 
an  encomium  on  Castor  and  Pollux,  twin-brothers  of  the  olden  turf,  from  whom 
he  ever  afterwards  derived  good  luck  and  celestial  patronage.  But  further  to 
illustrate  this  grand  feature  in  the  songs  of  Beranger,  and  this  predominant 
propensity  of  the  French  poet,  I  will  now  give  a  most  beautiful  exemplification 
of  his  talent  in  dignifying  a  most  homely  subject  by  the  admixture  of  Greek 
and  Roman  associations.  The  French  original  is  rather  too  long  to  be  tran- 
scribed here ;  and  as  my  translation  is  not,  /;/  this  case,  a  literal  version,  the 
less  it  is  confronted  with  its  prototype  the  better.  The  last  stanza  I  do  not 
pretend  to  understand  rightly,  so  I  put  it  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  in  a  note,* 
supposing  that  my  readers  may  not  be  so  blind  as  I  confess  I  am  concerning 
this  intricate  and  enigmatical  passage  of  the  ode. 

"  GOOD  DRY   LODGINGS.'' 

According  io  Beranger,  Songitcr. 

My  dwelling  is  ample, 

And  I've  set  an  example 
For  all  lovers  of  wine  to  follow. 

If  my  home  you  should  ask, 

I  have  drain'd  out  a  cask, 
And  I  dwell  in  the  fragrant  hollow  I 
A  disciple  am  I  of  Oiogenes — 
Oh  !  his  tub  a  most  classical  lodging  is  ; 
"Tis  a  beautiful  alcove  for  thinking  ; 
'Tis,  besides,  a  cool  grotto  for  drinking  : 
Moreover,  the  parish  throughout 
You  can  readily  roll  it  about. 


» 


"  Diogene  !  sous  ton  manteau, 
Libre  et  content,  je  ris,  je  bois,  sans  gene ; 

Libre  et  content,  je  route  raon  tonneau  ! 
Lanterne  en  main,  dans  FAthenes  moderne 

Chercher  un  homme  est  un  dessein  fort  beau  ! 
jNIais  quand  le  soir  voit  briller  ma  lanterne, 

C'esc  aux  amours  qu'elle  sert  de  flambeau.' 


-1 


_ — __ 

144  -^^(^  Works  of  Father  Front. 

O  !  the  berth 
For  a  lover  of  mirth 
To  revel  in  jokes,  and  to  lodge  in  ease. 
Is  the  classical  tub  of  Diogenes  ! 

In  politics  I'm  no  adept, 
And  into  my  tub  when  I've  crept, 
They  may  canvass  in  vain  for  my  vote. 
For  besides,  after  all  the  great  cry  and  hubbub, 
Reform  gave  no  "  ten  pound  franchise"  to  my  tub  J 

So  your  "  bill  "  I  don't  value  a  groat  ! 
And  as  for  that  idol  of  filth  and  vulgarity. 
Adored  now-a-days,  and  yclept  Popularity, 
To  vay  home 
Should  it  come, 
And  my  hogshead's  bright  aperture  darken. 
Think  not  to  such  summons  I'd  hearken. 
No  !  I'd  say  to  that  goule  grim  and  gaunt. 
Vile  phantom,  avaunt  ! 
Get  thee  out  of  my  sight  ! 
For  thy  clumsy  opacity  shuts  out  the  Hght 
Of  the  gay  glorious  sun 
From  my  classical  tun, 
Where  a  hater  of  cant  and  a  lover  of  fun 
Fain  would  revel  m  mirth,  and  would  lodge  in  ease — 
The  classical  tub  of  Diogenes ! 

In  the  park  of  St.  Cloud  there  stares  at  you 
A  pillar  or  statue 

Of  my  liege,  the  philosopher  cynical : 

There  he  stands  on  a  pinnacle. 
And  his  lantern  is  placed  on  the  groimd, 

While,  with  both  eyes  fixed  wholly  on 

The  favourite  haunt  of  Napoleon, 
"A  MAX  !"  he  exclaims,  "  by  the  powers,  I  have  found  !" 
But  for  me,  when  at  eve  I  go  sauntering 
On  the  boulevards  of  Athens,  "  Love  "  carries  my  lantern  ; 
And,  egad  !  though  I  walk  most  demurelj^ 
For  a  man  I'm  not  looking  full  surely  ; 
Nay,  I'm  sometimes  brought  drunk  home. 
Like  honest  Jack  Reeve,  or  like  honest  Tom  Duncombe. 
O  !  the  nest 
For  a  lover  of  jest 

To  revel  in  fun,  and  to  lodge  in  ease, 

Is  the  classical  tub  of  Diogenes  ! 

So  much  for  the  poet's  capability  of  embellishing  what  is  vul.c^ar,  by  the 
maj^ic  wand  of  anticiue  recollections  :  propric  commiiiiia  diccrc,  is  a  secret  as 
rare  as  ever  ;  and  none  but  genuine  fellows,  such  as  Byron,  Horace,  Scott,  and 
Beranger,  were  in  possession  of  this  valualjle  tradition.  When  Hercules  took  a 
distaff  in  hand,  he  made  but  a  poor  spinner,  and  broke  all  the  threads,  to  the 
amusement  of  his  mistress ;  Berangcr  would  have  gracefully  gone  through 
even  that  minor  accomplishment,  at  the  same  time  that  the  war-club  and  th  • 
battle-axe  lost  nothing  of  their  power  when  wielded  by  his  hand.  Such  is  ii.o 
amazing  versatility  of  getiius  ! 

("in  anything  be  found  in  the  whole  range  of  sentimental  rhapsodies  and 
tender   effusions,  of  mingled  love,  enthusiasm,    and  patriotism,   to   compare 
with  the  following  beautiful    ode  of  this  songster  of  "  the  tub,"  who  herein 
.shows  most  strikingly  witii  what  facility  he  can  diversify  his  style,  vary  his  tone, 
i    and  run  "  through  each  mood  of  the  lyre,  while  a  master  in  all !  " 


TJie  Songs  of  France. 


145 


LE   PIGEON   MESSAGER. 


THE    CARRIER-DOVE 
ATHENS. 


OF 


CJiatisoii,  1822. 

L'A'i  brillait,  et  ma  jeune  maitresse 

Chantait   les  dieux   dans  la  Grece   ou- 
llies  ; 
No-'s  c  jmparions  notre  France  a  la  Grece, 

Qi:and  un    pigeon  vint  s'abattre  a  nos 
pieds. 
Xa;ris  decouvre  un  billet  sous  son  ai'.e  ; 

11  le  portait  vers  des  foyers  cheris— 
Bois  dans  ma  coupe,  O  messager  fid&le  ! 

Et  dors  en  paux  sur  le  sein  de  Nseris. 

II  est  tombe.  las  d'un  trop-long  voyage ; 

Rendons-lui  vite  et  force  et  liberte. 
D'un  traffiquant  remp!it-il  le  message? 

Va-t-il  d'amour  parler  a  la  beaute  ? 
Peut-etre  il  porte  au  nid  qui  le  rappelle 

Les  derniers    voeux    d'infortunes   pros- 
crits — 
Bois  dans  ma  coupe,  O  messager  fidele  ! 

Et  dors  en  paix  sur  le  sein  de  Naeris. 


Mais  du  billet  quelques    mots    me    font 
croire 

Qu'il  est  en  France  a  des  Grecs  apporte ; 
II  vient  d'Athenes ;  il  doit  parler  de  gloire ; 

Lisons-le  done  par  droit  de  parente — 
"Athene  est  litre  I"     Amis,  quelle  nou- 
velle  ! 

Que  de  lauriers  tout-a-co;;p  refleuris— 
Bois  dans  ma  coupe,  O  messager  fidele  ! 

Et  dors  en  paix  sur  le  sein  de  Naeris. 

Athene  est  libre  !    Ah !  buvons  a  la  Grece  ! 

Naeris,  voici  de  nouveaux  demi-dieux  ! 
L'Europe  en  vain,  tremblante  de  viellesse, 

Desheritait  ces  aines  glorieux. 
lis  sont  vainqueurs  !     Athenes,   toujours 
belle, 

X'est  plus  vouee  au  culte  des  debris  1 — 
Bois  dans  ma  coupe,  O  messager  fidele  I 

Et  dors  en  paix  sur  le  sein  de  Naeris. 


At-iaie  est  libre  .'     O,  muse  des  Pindares, 

Reprends  ton  sceptre,  et  ta  IjTe,  et  ta 
voix  ! 
Athene  est  libre,  en  depit  des  barbares  I 

Athene  est  libre,  en  depit  de  nos  rois  I 
Que  I'univers  toujours,  instruit  par  elle, 

Retrouve  encore  Athenes  dans  Pans — 
Bois  dans  ma  coupe,  O  messager  fidele  I 

Et  dors  en  paix  sur  le  sein  de  Nasris. 


Beau  voyageur  du  pays  des  Hellenes, 
Repose-toi ;  puis  vole  a  tes  amouis  ! 

Vole,  et  bientot,  reporte  dans  Atheres, 
Reviens  braver  et  tyrans  et  vautours. 


A  Dreavi,  1S22. 

Ellen  sat  by  my  side,  and  I  held 

To  her  lip  the  gay  cup  in  my  bower, 
When  a  bird  at  our  feet  we  beheld, 

As    we    talk'd   of   old   Greece    in   that 
hour  ; 
And  his  wing  bore  a  burden  of  love. 

To  some  fair  one  the  secret  soul  tell- 
ing— 
O  drink  of  my  cup,  carrier-dove  ! 

And  sleep  on  the  bosom  of  Ellen. 

Thou  art  tired — rest  awhile,  and  anon 

Thou  shalt  soar,  with  new  energy  thrill- 
ing. 
To  the  land  of  that  far-off  fair  one, 

If  such  be  the  task  thou'rt  fulfilling  : 
But  perhaps  thou  dost  v.aft  the  last  word 

Of   despair,    wrung    from    valour    and 
duty — 
Then  drink  of  my  cup,  carrier-bird  I 

Ajid  sleep  on  the  bosom  of  Beauty. 

Ha  I  these  lines  are  from  Greece  !     Well  I 
knew 

The  loved  idiom  1     Be  mine  the  perusal. 
Son  of  France,  I'm  a  child  of  Greece  too ; 

And  a  kinsman  will  brook  no  refusal. 
"Greece  is  /ree  1 "  all  the  gods  have  con- 
curr'd 

To  fill  up  our  joy's  brimming  measure — 
O  drink  of  m.y  cup,  carrier-bird  ! 

And  sleep  on  the  bosom  of  Pleasure. 

Greece  is  free  '     Let  us  drink  to  that  land, 

To  our  elders  in  fame  !     Did  ye  merit 
Thus  to  struggle  alone,  glorious  hand  ! 

From   whose   sires  we  our  freedom  in- 
herit 1 
The  old   glories,  which  kings  would  de- 
stroy, 

Greece  regains,  never,  never  to  lose  'em  ! 
O  drink  of  my  cup,  bird  of  joy  I 

Aud  sleep  on  mj-  Ellen's  soft  bosom. 

Mu?e  of  Athens  !  thj-  IjTe  quick  resrme  ! 

None  thy  anthem  of  freedom  shall  hin- 
der : 
Give  Anacreon  joy  in  his  tomb, 

And  gladden  the  ashes  of  Pindar. 
Ellen  !  fold  that  bright  bird  to  thy  breast, 

Isor  permit   him   henceforth   to    desert 
you — 
O  drink  of  my  cup,  winged  guest  ! 

And  sleep  on  the  bosom  of  Virtue. 

Eut  no,  he  must  hie  to  his  home. 

To  the  nest  where  his  bride  is  awaiting  ; 

Scon  again  to  ox'.r  climate  he'll  come. 
The  young  glories  of  Aihens  relating, 


146 


The  Woi'ks  of  FaiJicr  Front, 


A  tant  des  rois  dont  le  trone  chancele, 
D'un   peuple   libre  apporte    encore    les 
oris — 

Eois  dans  ma  coupe,  O  messager  fidfele  ! 
Et  dors  en  paix  sur  le  sein  de  Naeris. 


The  baseness  of  kings  to  reprove, 

To  blush  our  vile  rulers  compelling  1 — 

Then  drink  of  my  goblet,  O  dove  I 
And  sleep  on  the  breast  of  my  Ellen.* 


After  this  specimen  of  Beranger's  poetic  powers  in  the  sentimental  line,  I  shall 
take  leave  of  him  for  the  remainder  of  this  cliapter ;  promising,  however,  to 
draw  largely  on  his  inexhaustible 'exchequer  when  next  I  levy  my  contributions 
on  the.  French.  But  I  cannot  get  out  of  this  refined  and  delicate  mood  of 
quotations  without  indulging  in  the  luxury  of  one  more  ballad,  an  exquisite  one, 
from  tiie  pen  of  my  favourite  Millevoye.  Poor  young  fellow  !  he  died  when 
full  of  promise,  in  early  life;  and  these  are  the  last  lines  his  pale  hand  traced 
on  paper,  a  few  days  before  he  expired  in  the  pretty  village  of  Xeuilly,  near 
Paris,  wiiither  he  had  been  ordered  by  the  physician,  in  hopes  of  prolonging, 
by  country  air,  a  life  so  dear  to  the  Muses.     Listen  to  the  notes  of  the  swan  ! 


PRIEZ    POUR    MOI. 
RO^IA^XE. 

KcJiilly,  Octobre,  1820. 

Dans  la  solitaire  bourgade, 

Revant  a  ses  maux  tristement, 
Langui;-sait  un  pauvre  malade, 

D'un  mal  qui  le  va  consumant : 
II  disait,  "  Gens  de  la  chaumifere, 
Voici  I'heure  de  la  priere, 

Et  le  tintement  du  befroi ; 

Vous  qui  priez,  priez  pour  moi ! 

Mais  quand  vous  vcrrez  la  cascade 
S'ombrager  de  sombres  rameaux, 

Vous  direz,  '  Le  jeune  malade 
Est  delivre  de  tous  ses  maux.' 

Alors  reventz  sur  ceite  rive, 

Chanter  la  c:  rr.plainte  na'ive, 
Et  quand  ti;K'jra  lo  befroi, 
Vous  qui  priez,  priez  pour  moi  ! 

I\Ia  compagne,  ma  seule  amie, 

Dii^ne  objet  d'un  constant  amour! 
Je  lui  avais  consacre  ma  vie, 

Helas  !  je  ne  vis  qu'un  jour! 
Plaignez-la,  gens  de  la  chaumifere, 
Lorsquc,  ix  I'heure  de  hi  prifere, 

EUe  vicndra  sous  le  befroi  ; 

Vous  qui  priez,  priez  pour  moi !" 


PRAY  FOR  ME,     A  BALLAD. 

By  Millevoye,  on  his  Death-bed  at  iJie  Village 
of  Ncuilly. 

Silent,  remote,  this  hamlet  seems — 

How  hush'd  the  breeze  !  the  eve  how  calm  ! 
Light  through  my  dying  chamber  beams. 

But  hope  comes  not,  nor  healing  balm. 
Kind  villagers  I  God  bless  your  shed  ! 

Hark  !  'tis  for  prayer — the  evening  bell^ 
Oh,  stay,  and  near  my  dying  bed, 

Maiden,  for  me  your  rosary  tell  ! 

When  leaves  shall  strew  the  waterfall, 

In  the  sad  close  of  autiuun  drear. 
Say,  "  The  sick  youth  is  freed  from  all 

The  pangs  and  woe  he  sulTer'd  here." 
So  may  ye  speak  of  him  that's  gone  ; 

l<ut  when  yonx  belfry  tolls  my  knell, 
Pray  for  the  soul  of  that  lost  one — 

Maiden,  for  me  your  rosary  tell  I 

Oh  I  pity  her,  in  sable  robe. 

Who  to  my  grassy  grave  will  come  : 
Nor  seek  a  hidden  wound  to  probe — 

She  was  my  love  I — point  out  my  tomb ; 
Tell  her  my  life  should  have  been  hers — 

'Twas  but  a  day  I  — God's  will  I— 'tis  well : 
But  weep  with  her,  kind  villagers  I 

Maiden,  for  me  your  rosary  tell ! 


Simple,  unaffected,  this  is  true  poetry,  and  goes  to  the  heart.  One  ballad 
like  the  foregoing  is  worth  a  cart-load  of  soi-disaiit  elegies,  monodies,  soliio- 
quies,  and  "bards'  legacies."  Apropos  of  melodies,  1  just  now  recollect  one 
in  Tom's  own  style,  which  it  would  be  a  pity  to  keep  from  him  ;  indeed,  only 
for  his  late  conduct  I  would  have  enclosed  it  to  liim,  and  allowed  liim  to  pass 
it  off  as  his  own,  in  the  same  way  as  forty  other  French  compositions,  which 
he  has  iiad  the  effrontery  to  claim  as  his  original  property,  'i  o  save  liim  the 
trouble  of  translating  it  into  Moorish  rhyme,  I  have  done  the  job  myself;    and 

*  It  would  be  an  insult  to  the  classic  scholar  to  remind  him  that  Bcranger  has  taken 
the  liint  of  this  song  from  Anacreon's  Epaa/iir)  n^tAeia,  jro^cc,  noQiv  Trtraaaai,  ode  15, 
[j'u.vtti  iod.  yatic.)—PKOi  T. 


The  Songs  of  France. 


147 


it  may  challenge  competition  with  his  best  concetti  and  most  captivating 
similes.  The  song  is  from  an  old  troubadour  called  Pierre  Ronsard,  from 
whom  Tommy  has  picked  up  many  a  good  thing  ere  now. 


LE    SABLE. 

La  poudre  qui  dans  ce  cristal 

Le  cours  des  heures  nous  retrace, 

Lorsque  dans  un  petit  canal 
Souvent  elle  passe  et  repasse. 

Fut  Ronsard,  qui,  un  jour,  morbleu  ! 

Par  les  beaux  yeux  de  sa  Clytandre 
Soudain  fut  transforme  en  feu, 

Et  il  n'en  reste  que  la  cendre. 

Cendre  !  qui  ne  t'arretes  jamais, 
Tu  temoigperas  une  chose, 

C'est  qu'ayant  vu  de  tels  attraits, 
Le  co;ur  onques  ne  repose. 


THE   HOUR-GLASS. 

Dear  Tom,  d'ye  see  the  rill 
Of  sand  within  this  phial? 

It  runs  like  in  a  mill, 
And  tells  time  like  a  dial. 

That  sand  was  once  Ronsard, 
Till  Bessy  D***  look'd  at  him.* 

Her  eye  burnt  up  the  bard — 
He's  pulverized  I  an  atom  ! 

Now  at  this  tale  so  horrid, 

Vxz.y  learn  to  keep  j'our  smile  hid. 
For  Bessy's  zone  is  "torrid," 

And  fire  is  in  her  eyelid,  t 


Now  who,  after  this  magnificent  sample  of  French  gallantry,  will  refuse  to 
that  merry  nation  the  sceptre  of  supremacy  in  the  department  of  love-songs 
and  amorous  effusions?  Indeed,  the  language  of  polite  courtship  and  the 
dialect  of  soft  talk  is  so  redolent  among  us  of  French  origin  and  Gallic  associa- 
tions, that  the  thing  speaks  for  itself.  The  servant-maid  in  the  court  of  Pilate 
found  out  Peter  to  be  from  Galilee  by  his  accent ;  and  so  is  the  dialect  of 
genuine  Gaul  ever  recognized  by  the  fair.  Pet  its  soi/is — air  disti)igud—faitc 
an  tour — naivete — billet  doux — affaire  de  cceur — boudoir,  &c.  &c.,  and  a  thou- 
sand other  expressions,  have  crept,  in  spite  of  us,  into  our  every-day  usage. 
It  was  so  of  old  with  the  Romans  in  reference  to  Greek,  which  was  the  favour- 
ite conversational  vehicle  of  gallantry  an  on  j  the  loungers  along  the  I'ia 
Sacra:  at  least  we  have  (to  say  nothing  ot  Juvenal)  the  authority  of  that 
excellent  critic,  Quintilian,  who  informs  us  tliat  his  contemporaries,  in  their 
sonnets  to  the  Roman  ladies,  stuffed  tlieir  verses  with  Greek  terms.  I  think 
his  words  are  :  "  Tanto  est  sermo  Grtecus  Latino  jucundior,  ut  nostri  poetas, 
quoties  carmen  dulce  esse  voluerunt,  illorum  id  nominibus  exornent."  (Quint, 
xii.  cap.  10,  sec.  33.)  And  again,  in  another  passage,  he  says  (lib.  .\.  cap.  i), 
"  Ita  ut  mihi  sermo  Romanus  non  recipere  videatur  illam  solis  concessam 
Atiicis  Venerem."  Our  own  Quindlian,  Addison,  has  a  curious  paper  in  his 
"Spectator,"  complaining  of  the  great  number  of  military  terms  imported, 
dm  ing  the  Marlborough  campaigns,  from  the  fighting  dictionary  of  France: 
the  influx  of  this  slang  he  considered  as  a  great  disgrace  to  his  fellow-country- 
men, a  humiliating  badge  of  foreign  conquest  not  to  be  tolerated.  Neverthe- 
less, chevaux  de  frisc—twrs  de  combat — aide  dc    camp — depCd — etat  major — 

*  -^  gipsy  had  cautioned  M.  de  la  Mothe  Vayer  against  going  too  near  a  dyke  ;  but  in 
defiance  of  the  prophecy  he  married  a  demoiselle  Dc  la  Fosse  : 

Injbz'ca  qui  te  moritunim  dixit  haruspex 
Non  mentitus  erat ;  conjugis  ilia  fuit  I " 

O.  Y. 
t  Ronsard  has  no  claim  to  this  ingenious  concetto :  it  is  to  be  found  among  the  poems 
of  Jerome  Amalthi,  who  flourished  in  the  14th  century-. 

"  Perspicuo  in  vitro  pulvis  qui  dividit  horas, 
Et  vagus  angustum  ssepe  recurrit  iter, 
Olim  erat  Alcippus,  qui,  Galiae  ut  vidit  ocellos, 

Arsit,  et  est  cseco  factus  ab  igne  cinis. 
Irrequiete  cinis  I  miserum  testabere  amantem 
More  tuo  nulla  posse  quiete  frui." 

0.  V. 


148 


TJic  Works  of  Father  Protit. 


i>ncradc'—a.nd  a  host  of  other  locutions,  have  taken  such  root  in  our  soil,  that 
it  were  vain  to  murmur  at  the  circumstance  of  their  foreign  growth.  So  it  is 
with  the  manual  of  love  ;  it  is  replete  with  the  idioms  of  France,  and  there  is 
no  use  in  denying  the  superiority  of  that  versatile  tongue  for  the  purpose  of 
bamboozling  the  gentler  portion  of  creation.  I  might  triumphantly  refer  to 
the  epistolary  and  conversational  embellishments  it  has  furnished  to  the 
"  Fud"-e  Family  in  Paris,"  one  of  Tommy's  happiest  efforts  at  humour,  but 
I  intend  returning  to  the  subject  in  a  fresh  chapter. 

Meantime,  I  tliink  it  but  fair  to  make  some  compensation  to  the  French  for 
all  the  sentimental  matters  derived  from  their  vocabulary;  and  I  therefore 
conclude  this  first  essay  on  the  "Songs  of  France  "  by  giving  f/icm  a  speci- 
men of  our  own  love-ditties,  translated,  as  v/eil  as  my  old  hand  can  render  the 
young  feelings  of  passionate  endearment,  into  appropriate  French  expression  : 


WADE. 

^leet  me  by  moonlight  alone, 
And  then  I  will  till  you  a  tale 

Must  be  told  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
In  the  grove  at  the  end  of  the  vale. 

0  remem.ber  I  be  sure  to  be  there  ; 

For  though  dearly  the  moonlight  I  prize, 

1  care  not  for  all  in  the  air, 

If  I  want  the  sweet  Hght  of  thine  eyes. 
Then  meet  me  by  moonlight  alone. 

Daylight  was  made  for  the  gay. 

For  the  thoughtless,    the  heartless,  the 
free  ! 
But  there's  something  about  the  moon's  ray 

That  is  dearer  to  you,  love,  and  me. 
Oh  !  be  sure  to  be  there,  for  I  said 

I  would  show  to  the  night-flowers  their 
queen. 
Nay,  turn  not  aside  that  sweet  head — 
'Tis  the  fairest  that  ever  was  seen. 
Then  meet  me  by  moonlight  alone. 


ABBE   DE   PROUT. 

Viens  au  bosquet,  ce  soir,  sans  temoin, 

Dans  le  vallon,  au  clair  de  la  lune  ; 
Ce  que  Ton  t'y  dira  n'a  besoln 

Ni  de  jour  ni  d'oreille  importune. 
Mais  surtout  rends-toi  la  sans  faillir, 

Car  la  lune  a  bien  moins  de  lumlere 
Que  I'amour  n'en  sQait  faire  jaillir 

De  ta  languissante  paupiere. 

Sois  au  bosquet  au  clair  de  la  lune. 

Pour  les  cosurs  sans  amour  le  jour  luit, 

Le  soleil  aux  froids  pensers  preside  ; 
Mais  la  pale  clarte  de  la  nuit 

Favorise  I'amant  et  le  guide. 
Les  fleurs  que  son  disque  argentin 

Colore,  en  toi  verront  leur  reine. 
Quoi  I  tu  baisses  ce  regard  divin, 

Jeune  beaute,  vraiment  souveraine  ? 
Rends-toi  la  done  au  clair  de  la  lune. 


If  an  English  love-song  can  be  so  easily  rendered  into  the  plastic  language 
of  France  by  one  to  whom  that  flexible  and  harmonious  idiom  was  not  native 
(though  hospitable),  what  must  be  its  capabilities  in  the  hands  of  those  masters 
of  the  Gallic  lyre,  Victor  Hugo,  Lamartiiie,  Chateaubriand,  Delavigne,  and 
Beranger  ?  To  their  effusions  I  shall  gladly  dedicate  a  few  more  papers  ;  nor 
can  I  imagine  any  literary  pursuit  better  calculated  to  beguile,  in  a  pleasant 
and  profitable  fashion,  the  winter  evenings  that  are  approaching. 


The  Songs  of  France.  149 


VIII. 

Sbc  Songs  idi  J-Vn:nrc. 

[Frascr  s  M.igazme,  Novc7nocr,  1S34.) 


[The  Literar>'  Portrait  in  the  number  of  Regi^ta  containing  this  second  chapter  on  the 
Lyrics  of  France,  np?-opos  to  women  and  wooden  shoes,  represented  one  of  those  two  rare 
humorists  of  the  Regency  who  were  joint  authors  of  the  "  Rejected  Addresses  " — James 
Smith,  the  elder  brother,  not  Horace,  the  novelist  of  "  Brambletye  House"  and  long- 
hidden  performer  of  another  solo,  also,  on  a  certain  "Tin  Trumpet."  Croquis'  wicked 
likeness  of  the  former  depicted  him  in  this  sketch  seated  rather  stiffly  in  an  arm-chair, 
high-cravated,  a  hand  on  his  crutch-handled  cane,  a  foot  resting  upon  an  ottoman,  and 
altogether  "  pinched  in,  and  swelled  out,  and  got  up,  and  strapped  down  as  much  as  he 
could  possibly  bear,"  after  the  manner  of  a  comparatively  slim  and  rather  grim  Turvey- 
drop.  Maclise's  embellishment  to  this  paper  in  the  1S36  edition  represented  the  old 
grandame  in  her  ingle-nook  saying  to  her  children's  children."  J'ai  garde  son  verre,"  as 
she  points  tothe  treasured  wine-giass  upon  her  homely  chimney-piece.  The  editor  of 
the  present  edition  of  "The  Works  of  Father  Prout,"  having  himself,  years  ago,  translated 
Beranger's  "Souvenirs  du  Feuple,"  is  tempted,  for  the  mere  purposes  of  comparison, 
to  append  to  IMahony's,  his  own  version  of  that,  in  truth,  inimitable  masterpiece.] 


CHAPTER  II.— Women  and  Wooden  Shoes. 

"  Neir  estate  all'  ombra,  nel  inverno  al  fuoco, 
Pinger'  per  gloria,  e  poetar'  per  giuoco." 

Salvator  Ros.\. 

Cool  shade  is  summer's  haunt,  fireside  November's  ; 
The  red  red  rose  then  yields  to  glowing  embers : 
Draivings  of  Cork  and  "  Croquis  "  place  before  us  ! 
And  let  old  Prout  strike  up  his  Gallic  chorus. 

O.  Y. 

This  gloomy  month  is  peculiarly  disastrous  in  northern  climates.  Indeed,  our 
brethren  of  the  "broadsheet"  are  so  philosophically  resigned  to  the  antici- 
pated casualties  of  the  season,  that  they  keep  by  them,  in  stereotype,  ani;ounce- 
ments  which  at  this  time  never  f;iil  to  be  ptit  in  constant  requisition  ;  viz. 
"  Death  by  Drowning,"  "  Extraordinary  Fog,"  "  Melancholy  Suicide,"  "  Felo 
de  se,"  and  sundry  such  doleful  headings  borrowed  from  Young's  "  Xiglit 
Thoughts,"  Ovid's  "Tristia,"  the  "Newgate  Calendar,"  and  other  authors  in 
the  dismal  line.  There  is  a  method  in  otir  spleen,  and  much  punctuality  in 
this  periodical  recurrence  of  the  national  melancholy.  It  certainly  showed 
great  considerateness  in  that  much-abused  man,  Guy  Faux,  to  have  selected 
the  fifth  of  November  for  despatcliing  the  stupid  and  unreformed  se-nators  of 


150  TJlc  Works  of  Father  Front. 

Great  Britain  :  so  cold  and  comfortless  a  month  was  the  most  acceptable  which 
he  could  possibly  luive  chosen  for  warming  their  honourable  house  with  a  few  j 
seasonable  laggots  and  forty-eight  barrels  of  gunpowder.  Philanthropic  citizen!  | 
Neither  he  nor  Sir  William  Congreve,  of  roci^et  celebrity— nor  Friar  Bacon, 
the  original  concocter  of  "  villanous  saltpetre" — nor  Parson  Malthus,  the 
patentee  of  the  "  preventive  check  "^uor  Dean  Swift,  the  author  of  "  A  most 
Modest  Proposal  for  turning  into  Salt  Provisions  the  Offspring  of  the  Irish 
Poor"— nor  Brougham,  the  originator  of  the  new  ixform  in  the  poor  laws — 
nor  Mr.  O'Connell,  the  Belisarius  of  the  poor-box,  and  the  stanch  opponent  of 
any  provision  for  his  half-starved  tributaries — will  ever  meet  their  reward  in 
this  world  nor  even  be  appreciated  or  understood  by  their  blind  and  ungrate- 
ful fe!lov,--countrymen.  Happily,  however,  for  some  of  the  above-mentioned 
worthies,  there  is  a  warm  cor/ier  reserved,  if  not  in  Westminster  Abbey,  most 
certainly  in  "  another  place ;"  where  alone  (God  forgive  us!),  we  incline  to 
think,  their  merits  can  be  suitably  acknowledged. 

Sorrowful,  indeed,  would  be  the  condition  of  mankind,  and  verily  deplor- 
able tlie  November  chapter  of  accidents  if,  in  addition  to  other  sources  of  sub- 
lunary desolation  over  v.hich  we  have  no  control.  Father  Prout  were,  like  the 
sun,  to  obnubilate  his  disk,  veil  his  splendour,  and  withdraw  the  light  of  his 
countenanjc  from  a  gloomy  and  disconsolate  world  : 

"  Caput  obscura  nitidum  ferrugine  texit, 
Impiaque  aiternam  timuerunt  saecula  noctem." 

Georgic.  I. 

Then,  indeed,  would  unmitigated  darkness  thicken  the  already  "palpable" 
obscure  ;  dulness  would  place  another  padlock  on  the  human  understanding, 
and  knowledge  be  at  one  grand  entrance  fairly  shut  out.  But  no  !  such  a 
calamity,  such  a  "  disastrous  twilight"  shall  not  befall  our  planet,  as  long  as 
there  is"  MS.  in  "  the  chest "  or  shot  in  the  locker.  Generations  yet  unborn 
shall  walk  in  the  blaze  of  Prout's  wisdom,  and  the  learned  of  our  own  day 
shall  still  continue  to  light  the  pipe  of  knowledge  at  the  focus  of  this  intense 
luminary.  We  are  thoroughly  convinced,  so  essential  do  we  deem  the  con- 
tinuance of  these  periodical  essays  to  the  happiness  of  our  contemporaries, 
that  were  we  (qujci  Dciis  avert.jf!)  to  put  a  stop  to  our  accustomed  issues  of 
"  Prout  paper,"  forgeries  would  instantly  get  into  circulation  ;  a  false  paper 
currency  would  be  attempted;  there  would  arise  x^juco-Prouts  and  \1/lvoo- 
prophets  :  but  they  would  deceive  no  one,  much  less  the  elect.  Every  one 
knows  how  that  great  German  chemist.  Farina  of  Cologne,  is  constantly 
obliged  to  caution  the  public,  in  the  envelope  of  his  long  glass  bottles,  against 
all  spurious  distillations  of  his  wonderful  water  :  "  Rowland,"  of  Hatton  Gar- 
den, has  found  more  than  one  "  Oliver"  vending  a  counterfeit  "  incomparable 
Macassar;"  and  our  friend  Bob  Olden  writes  to  us  from  Cork  to  be  on  our 
guard  against  an  illegitimate  "  ]--ukeiiogeneion,"  for  he  swears  by  tlie  beard  of 
the  prophet  that  there  is  no  shaving  cosmetic  genuine  unless  it  bears  his  most 
illegible  signature.  Now,  following  the  example  of  these  gentlemen,  we  give 
fair  notice,  that  no  "  Prout  Paper"  is  the  recti  thing  unless  it  have  a  label 
signed  "Olivkk  Ydkkr."  'Phere  is  a  certain  Bridgewater  Treatise  now  in 
circulation  said  to  be  from  the  pen  of  one  Doctor  Prout ;  but  it  is  a  sheer 
hoax.  An  (?;Y/j/' has  also  taken  up  the  name,  but  lie  must  be  an  impostor, 
not  known  on  Watergrasshill.  Let  it  be  remembered  that,  owing  to  the 
law  of  celibacy,  "the  Father"  can  have  left  behind  him  no  children,  or 
posterity  whatever  :  therefore,  none  but  himself  can  hope  to  be  his  parallel. 
We  are  perfectly  aware  that  he  may  have  "nephews,"  and  other  collateral 
descendants  ;  for  we  admit  the  truth  of  that  celebrated  placard,  or  lampoon, 
stuck  on  the  mutilated  statue  of  Pasquin  in  the  reign  of  Pope  Borghese 
(Paul  IV.)  : 


J—  ~ — — 

The  Songs  of  France.  151 


"  Ciim  factor  rerum  privaret  semine  clerum, 
In  Satanse  votuni  successit  turba  nepot2tm  !  " — i.e. 

"  Of  bantlings  when  our  clergymen  were  freed  from  having  bevies, 
There  next  arose,  a  crowd  of  woes,  a  multitude  of  nevies  I  " 

But  should  any  audacious  thief  attempt  to  palm  himself  as  a  son  or  literary 
representative  of  the  venerable  pastor  of  the  most  barren  upland  in  the  county 
of  Cork,  let  him  look  sharp  ;  for  Terry  Callaghan,  who  has  got  a  situation 
in  the  London  police  (through  the  patronage  of  Feargus  O'Connor),  will 
quickly  collar  the  rutlian  in  the  most  inaccessible  garret  of  Grub  Street  :  to 
profane  so  respectable  a  signature,  the  fellow  '        .     .  -^  ..  -     - 

mimber  intirely ; "  what  we  English  call  a 
denominate  a  "  vrai gibier de greve  ;"  termed 
and  by  the  Greeks,  hukov  koouko^  kukov  wou. 

U'e  ■  have  nothing  further  to  add  in  this  introductory  prolusion,  only  to 
acknowledge  the  receipt  of  the  following  commtmica'tion  from  Germany, 
referring  to  our  last  batch   of  "Songs  of  France."     It  is  from    the  pen  of  a 

stanch  friend  of  Old  England,  and  an  uncompromising  disciple  of  Regixa 

the  sterling  patriot,  the  eloquent  lawyer,  and  the  facetious  knight,  Sir  Charles 
W'etherell.  Great  men's  peculiarities  attract  no  small  share  of  public  atten- 
tion :  thus,  ex.  gr.,  Napoleon's  method  of  plunging  his  forefinger  and  thumb 
into  his  waistcoat-pocket,  in  lieu  of  a  snuff-box,  was  the  subject  of  much 
European  commentary;  and  one  of  the  twelve  Cossars  was  nicknamed 
Caligula  from  a  peculiar  sort  of  Wellington  boot  which  he  happened  to  fancy. 
(Suet.  ///  v/fd.)  Some  irreverent  poet  has  not  scrupled  to  notice  a  featura  in 
otir  learned  correspondent's  habiliment,  stating  him  to  be 

"  Much  famed  for  length  of  sound  sagacious  speeches, 
IMore  still  for  brevity  of  braceless  b s," 

—a  quotation,  by  the  bye,  not  irrelevant  to  the  topic  on  which  Sir  Charles  has 
favoured  us  witl<i  a  line. 

"Aix-la-Chapelle,  October  7. 

"  Dear  Yorke, 
"I've  just  been  paying  my  devotions  to  the  tomb  of  Charlemagne  (the 
pride  of  this  ci-devant  metropolis  of  Europe',  and  on  my  return  to  my  hotel 
I  find  your  last  number  on  my  table.  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by 
giving  a  new  and  unheard-of  version  of  the  excellent  song  on  '  Le  bon  Roy 
Dagobert,'  who,  you  say,  '  avait  mis  sa  culotte  i\  I'ciivers;'  whereas  all  good 
editions  read  '  de  travers ;'  which  is  quite  a  different  sense,  lectio  Ioiioq 
e7nendatior  ;  foi  he  wore  the  garment,  not  inside  o;it,  but  wro/i<{  side /ore?nost  ? 
Again,  it  was  not  of  Australesia  that  he  was  king,  but  of  '  Gallia  braccata.' 
Let  me  not  meet  any  similar  blunders  in  the  subsequent  songs,  my  old  cock  ! 

"  Yours  in  haste, 

"  C.  W." 

Wishing  him  a  pleasant  tour  through  the  Germanic  confederation,  and 
hoping  it  may  be  long  ere  he  reach  that  fatal  goal  of  all  human  pilgrimage, 
the  diet  of-  IVojvns,  we  boiv  to  the  baronet's  opinion,  and  stand  corrected. 

OLIVER   YORKE. 

Xov.  jst,  1834. 


The  ]Vorks  of  Father  Front. 


Watergrasshill,  Nov.  1S33. 

"  ILLE  ego  qui  quondam,"  is  an  old  Latin  formula,  first  used  in  the  reign  of 
Augustus,  to  connect  the  epic  cantos  of  the  warlike  /Eneid  with  a  far  more 
polished  and  irreproachable  poem,  its  agricultural  predecessor.  Virgil  (some- 
thing like  Lord  Althorp  when  he  indulges  in  a  day-dream  and  thinks  pos- 
terity will  forgive  his  political  blunders  in  consideration  of  his  excellent  breed 
of  cattle)  sought  thus  to  bolster  up  the  manifest  imperfections  of  his  heroic 
and  epic  characters  by  a  wrong  reference  to  the  unexceptionable  Meliboeus, 
and  to  that  excellent'  old  Calabrian  farmer  whose  bees  hummed  so  tunefully 
under  the  "  lofty  towers  of  O^balia."  This  is  an  old  trick  :  it  is  a  part  of  the 
tactics  of  literature,  well  understood  by  that  awfully  numerous  fraternity,  the 
novel  writers,  who  never  fail  on  the  title-page  of  each  successive  production 
to  mention  some  previous  performance  of  glorious  memon.',  evidently  remind- 
ing the  public  of  their  bygone  trophies  in  the  field  of  literature,  and  of  some 
more  fortunate  hit  already  made  in  the  chance  medley  of  modern  authorship. 
Now,  in  venturing  to  refer  to  a  previous  paper  on  the  "Songs  of  France,"  my 
object  is  not  similar  :  my  thoughts  are  not  their  thoughts.  Totally  unknown 
j  to  my  contemporaries,  and  anxious  to  cultivate  the  privilege  of  obscurity,  it  is 
when  I  am  mouldering  in  the  quiet  tomb  where  my  rustic  parishioners  shall 
have  laid  me,  that  these  papers,  the  offspring  of  my  leisure,  shall  start  into 
life,  and  bask  in  the  blaze  of  publicity.  Some  paternal  publisher— perhaps 
some  maternal  masjazine — will  perhaps  take  charge  of  the  learned  deposit,  and 
hatch  my  eggs  with  all  the  triumph  of  successful  incubation.  But — and  this 
is  tlie  object  of  these  preliminary  remarks — let  there  be  care  taken  to  keep 
each  batch  separate,  and  each  b>-ood  distinct.  The  French  hen  s  family  should 
not  be  mixed  up  with  the  chickens  of  the  Muscovy  duck  ;  and  each  series  of 
" Prout  Papers  "  should  be  categorically  arranged,  "Series  juncturaque  pollet." 
(HoR.  Ars  Poet.)  For  instance:  the  present  essay  ought  to  come  after  one 
bearing  the  date  of  "October,"  and  containing  songs  about  "wine  ;"  such 
topic  being  appropriate  to  that  mellow  month,  which,  from  time  immemorial 
(no  doubt  because  it  happens  to  rh3'nie  with  the  word  "  sober  "),  has  been  set 
apart  for  jollification. 

1  have  called  these  effusions  the  offspring  of  my  leisure  ;  nor  do  I  see  any 
cause  why  the  hours  not  claimed  by  my  sacerdotal  functions  should  be 
refused  to  the  pursuits  of  literature.  1  do  not  think  that  Erasmus  was  a  dis- 
credit to  his  cloth,  though  he  penned  the  .Mwpuis  Y.yKwaiov.  '1  he  sonnets  of 
Francis  Petrarca  were  not  deemed  a  high  misdemeanour  at  the  papal  court  of 
Avignon,  though  written  by  a  priest.  Nor  was  \'ida  a  less  exemplary  bishop  in 
his  diocese  of  Albi,  for  having  sung  in  immortal  verse  the  labours  of  the 
silk-worm  {"  Bombyces,,'  Brile,  1537).  and  the  game  of  chess  ("Schiaccii 
Ludus,"  Romas,  1527).  Yet  I  doubt  not  (for  I  know  something  of  mankind*, 
that  there  may  be  found,  when  I  am  dead,  in  some  paltry  provincial  circle  of 
gossips,  the  chosen  haunt  of  dulness  and  all  uncharitableness,  creatures  with- 
out heart  and  without  brains,  who  will  industriously  malign  my  motives 
and  try  to  stigmatize  my  writings,  as  unbefitting  the  exalted  character  in 
^%hich  I  glory— that  of  an  aged  priest  (however  unworthy),  and  a  humble; 
joint  in  the  venerable  hierarchy  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  To  them  I  saw 
that  my  xeal  for  the  character  of  my  order  was  not  less  than  theirs  :  and  th.: 
wliile  their  short-sightedness  I  deplore,  their  rancorous  malevolence  I  con- 
template not  in  anger,  but  in  sorrow.  Their  efforts  can  only  recoil  on  them- 
selves. When  a  snake  in  the  island  of  Malta  entwined  itself  round  the  arm 
of  I'aul,  with  intent  to  sting  the  teacher  of  tlie  Gentiles,  he  gently  shook  tlic 
vip)cr  from  his  wrist ;  and  he  was  not  to  blame  if  the  reptile  fell  into  the 
..  fire. 
^        But  to  return  to  the  interesting  subject  of  literary  researches.     Full  gladly 


The  Songs  of  France.  153 

do  I  once  more  resume  the  pleasant  theme,  and  launch  my  simple  skiff  on  the 
wide  expanse  of  song — 

"  Once  more  upon  the  waters  ;  yea,  once  more  ! " 

The  minstrelsy  of  France  is  to  me  an  inexhaustible  source  of  intellectual 
pleasure,  and  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  I  do  not  carry  the  public  with  me  in 
the  appreciation  I  make  of  such  refined  enjoyment.  The  admirers  of  what 
is  delicate  in  thought,  or  polished  in  expression,  will  need  no  apology  for 
drawing  their  attention  to  these  exquisite  trifles  ;  and  the  student  of  general 
literature  will  acknowledge  the  connecting  link  which  unites,  though  unseen, 
the  most  apparently  remote  and  seemingly  dissimilar  departments  of  human 
knowledge.  "  Omnes  enim  artes,  quae  ad  humanitatem  pertinent,  habent 
quoddam  commune  vinculum,"  says  Cicero  {pro  ArchiCi  poeta).  But  in  the 
pleasant  province  of  legendar>-  lore  through  w  hich  I  propose  to  make  excur- 
sions, there  are  local  and  national  features  of  attraction  peculiarly  captivating. 
To  what  class  of  Englishmen,  since  the  conquest  of  this  fair  island  and  its 
iinfortunate  sister  by  the  chivalrous  Normans,  can  the  songs  of  that  gallant 
race  of  noble  marauders  and  glorious  pirates  be  without  thrilling  interest  ?  Not 
to  relish  such  specimens  of  spirit-stirring  poesy,  the  besotted  native  must  be 
only  fit  to  herd  among  swine,  with  the  collar  round  his  neck,  like  the  Saxon 
serf  of  Cedric ;  or  else  be  a  superficial  idiot,  like  ' '  W'amba,  the  son  of  Wit- 
less the  jester."  Selecting  oie  class  of  the  educated  pubUc,  by  way  of  exem- 
plification, where  (z// are  concerned, — to  that  most  acute  and  discriminating 
bodv,  the  Bar, — the  language  of  France  and  her  troubadours  cometh  in  the 
character  of  a  professional  acquaintance  to  be  carefully  cultivated,  and  most 
happy  shall  I  deem  myself  if,  by  submitting  to  their  perusal  these  gay  and 
anius'ing  ballads,  I  shall  have  reconciled  them  to  the  many  tedious  hours 
they  are  doomed  to  spend  in  conning  over  what  to  them  must  otherwise 
appear  the  semi-barbarous  terms  of  jurisprudence  bequeathed  by  William  le 
Roux  with  the  very  structure  of  Westminster  Hall,  and  coeval  with  its  oak 
roof  and  its  cobwebs.  In  reference  to  the  Gallic  origin  of  our  law  and  its 
idiom,  it  was  Juvenal  who  wrote  that  inspired  verse  [Sat.  XV.  v.  no)  — 

"  Gallia  causidicos  docuit  facunda  Britannos. " 

and  in  that  single  line  he  furnished  an  incontestable  proof  that  poetry  is  akin 
to  prophecy,  and  that  the  "  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling"  can  discover  even  the 
most  improbable  future  event  in  the  womb  of  time. 

A  knowledge  of  the  ancient  vocabulary  of  France  is  admitted  to  be  of  high 
importance  in  the  perusal  of  our  early  writers  on  history,  as  well  as  on  legisla- 
tion :  its  aid  may  be  felt  in  poetry  and  prose,  as  well  as  in  Chancery  and 
Doctors'  Commons.  An  old  song  has  beea  found  of  consequence  in  elucidat- 
ing an  unintelligible  clause  or  a  disputed  construction  ;  and  singular  to  relate, 
the  only  title-deed  the  Genoese  can  put  forward  to  claim  the  invention  of  the 
mariners'  compass  is  the  lay  of  a  French  troubadour.*  Few  are  aware  to 
what  extent  the  volatile  literature  of  our  merry  neighbours  has  pervaded  the 
mass  of  British  authorship,  and  by  what  secret  influences  of  imitation  and  of 
reminiscence  the  spirit  of  Norman  song  has  flitted  through  the  conquered 
island  of  Britain.  From  Geoffrey  Chaucer  to  Tom^  AJoore  (a  vast  interval  I), 
there  is  not  one,  save  the  immortal  Shakespeare  perhaps,  whose  writings  do 
not  betray  the  secret  working  of  this  foreign  essence,  mixed  up  with  the  crude 
material  of  Saxon  growth,  and  causing  a  sort  of  gentle  fermentation  most 
delectable  to  the  natives.     Take,  for  example,  OUver  Goldsmith,  w  hom  every 

*  A  ballad,  "  La  Bible,"  from  the  pen  of  Guyot  de  Provins,  dated  a.d.  1190,  and  com- 
mencing, '•  De  nostre  pere  I'apostoile."  It  is  a  pasquinade  against  the  Court  of  Rome. — 
Prolt. 


154 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


schoolboy  knows  by  heart  and  every  critic  calls  an  eminently  English  writer  of 
undoubted  originality;  now  place  in  juxtaposition  with  an  old  French  sons: 
his  "  Elegy  on  a  Mad  Dog,"  and  the  "  Panegyric  of  Mrs.  Mary  Blaze,"  and 
judge  for  yourself  if  I  have  not  a  case  in  point  : 


GOLDSMITH. 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song, 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short. 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  lived  a  man 
Of  whom  the  world  might  say. 

That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran 
Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had. 
To  comfort  friends  and  foes  ; 

The  naked  every  day  he  c'ad, 
When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 


DE  LA  MOXXOYE. 

Messires,  vous  plaist-il  d'ouTr, 
L'air  du  fameux  La  Palisse  ? 

II  pourra  vous  rejouiV,_ 

Pourvu  qu'il  vous  divertisse. 

II  etait  affable  et  doux, 

De  I'humeur  de  feu  son  p^re 

II  n'etait  guere  en  courroux. 
Si  ce  n'est  dans  sa  colere. 

Bien  instruit  d6s  le  berceau, 
Onques,  tant  etait  honnete, 

II  ne  mettait  son  chapeau, 
Qu'il  ne  se  couvrit  la  tete. 


So  much  for  this  Islington  model  of  a  gentleman,  whose  final  catastrophe,  and 
the  point  which  forms  the  sting  of  the  whole  "  Elegy,"'  is  but  a  literal  version 
of  a  long-established  Gallic  epigram,  viz. 


Quand  un  serpent  pordit  Aurele, 
Que  crois-tu  qu'il  en  arriva? 

Qu'Aurele  mourut  ?- -bagatelle  ! 
Ce  fut  le  serpent  qui  crcva. 


But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light. 

That  shewed  the  rogues  they  lied  ; 
The  nta7i  recovered  from  the  bite, 

The  dos:  it  was  that  died. 


The  same  accusation  liangs  over  Mrs.  Blaze  ;  for  I  regret  to  say  tliat  her 
virtues  and  accompiishments  are  all  secondhand;  and  tliat  the  gaudy  finery 
in  which  her  poet  lias  dressed  her  out  is  but  the  cast-off  fiippery  of  the  La 
Palisse  wardrobe.     Ex.  <;r.  : 


GOLDSMITH. 

The  public  all,  of  one  accord. 

Lament  for  Mrs.  Bla^e  ; 
Who  never  wanted  a  good  word  _ 

From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

At  church,  in  silks  and  satins  new. 
With  hoop  of  monstrous  size. 

She  never  !,lumber'd  in  her  pew 
But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver. 

By  twenty  beaux  and  more  ; 
The  king  himself  has  follow'd  her 

When  she  has  walk'd  before. 

Let  us  lament  in  sorrow  sore  ; 

For  Kent  .Street  well  may  say. 
That,  had  she  lived  a  twelvemonth  more, 

She  had  not  died  to-day.* 


DE  LA   MOXXOYE. 

II  brillait  comme  un  soleil, 
Sa  chevelure  etait  blonde  ; 

II  n'eut  pas  eu  de  pareil, 
S'il  eut  cte  seul  au  monde. 

Monte  sur  un  cheval  noir, 
Les  dames  le  minauderent  ; 

Et  c'est  la  qu'il  ce  fit  voir, 
A  ceux  qui  le  regardferent. 

Dans  un  superbe  tonrnoi, 
Prest  a  fournir  sa  carribre. 

Quand  il  fut  devant  le  roi, 
Certes  il  ne  fut  pas  ierriore. 

II  fut,  p.ar  un  triste  sort, 
Blesso  d'une  main  cruelle  ; 

On  croit,  pniisquil  en  est  mort. 
Que  la  playe  etaite  mortelle. 


My  readers  will,  no  doubt,  feel  somewhat  surprised  at  the  flagrant  coincidcnf^o 
manifest  in  these  parallel  passages;  and  I  can  assure  tliem  th:.t  it  is  not  without 
a  certain  degree  of  conci-rn  for  the  hitherto  unimpeachable  character  of  Clold- 

*  This  joke  is  as  old  as  the  riay>  of  St.  Jerome,  who  applies  it  to  his  old  foe.  Ruffinus. 
"  Grunnius  Corncotta,  porcelius,  vixit  annos  dccccxcix.  :  quod  si  semis  vixisset,  m.  annos 
implOsset. "—  pROUT. 


The  Songs  of  France.  155 


smith,  that  I  have  brought  to  light  an  instance  of  petty  larceny  perpetrated  by 
kirn  :  he  is  one  for  whom  I  have  a  high  regard.  My  friendsiiip  is  also  ver\' 
great  for  Plato;  but  of  Truth  I  am  fondest  of  all  :  so  out  the  cat  must  go 
from  the  bag  of  concealment.  Why  did  he  not  acquaint  us  with  the  source 
of  his  inspiration ?  \\']iy  smuggle  these  I'rench  wares,  when  he  might  hav-e 
imported  them  lawfully  by  payuig  the  customary  duty  of  acknowledgment? 
The  Roman  fabulist,  my  old  and  admired  friend  Phcedrus,  honestly  telis  tlie 
wOrld  how  he  came  by  his  wonderful  stock-in-tra«le  : 

"  ..tsopus  auctor  quam  materiam  reperit, 
Hanc  ego  polivi  versibus  senariLs." 

Such  is  the  sign-board  he  hangs  out  in  the  prologue  to  his  book,  and  no  one 
can  complain  of  unfair  dealing.  But  to  return  to  the  connection  between  our 
literature  and  that  of  France. 

Pope  avowedly  modelled  his  style  and  expression  on  the  writings  of  Boileau  ; 
and  there  is  percepiible  in  his  didactic  essays  a  most  admirable  imitation 
of  the  lucid,  methodical,  and  elaborate  construction  of  his  Gallic  original 
Dryden  appears  to  have  read  with  predilection  the  works  of  Comeille  and 
Malherbe  :  like  them,  he  is  forcible,  brilliant,  but  unequal,  turgid,  and  care- 
less. Addison,  it  is  apparent,  was  intimately  conversant  with  the  tasteful  and 
critical  writings  of  the  Jesuit  Bouhours  ;  and  Sterne  is  but  a  rifixciniento  of 
the  Vicar  of  Meudon,  the  reckless  Rabelais.  Who  will  question  the  ir.Suence 
exercised  by  Mohere  over  our  comic  writers — Sheridan,  Farquliar,  nnd  Ccn- 
greve?  Indeed,  our  theatre  seems  to  have  a  prescriptive  right  to  import  its 
comedies  from  France,  wholesale  and  duty  free.  At  the  brilliant  and  dazzling 
torch  of  La  Fontaine,  Gay  humbly  lit  his  slender  taper  ;  and  Fielding  would 
be  the  first  to  admit  his  manifold  obligations  to  Le  Sage,  having  drunk  deep 
at  the  fountain  of  "Gil  Bias."  Hume  the  historian  is  notorious  for  liis 
Gallicisms ;  and  perhaps  it  was  owing  to  his  long  residence  abroad  that  the 
pompous  period  of  Gibbon  was  attuned  to  the  melody  of  Massillon.  If  I  do 
not  mention  Milton  among  our  writers  who  have  profited  by  the  perusal  of 
continental  models,  it  is  because  the  Italian  school  was  that  in  which  he 
fonned  his  taste  and  harmonized  his  rhythmic  period. 

But,  to  trace  the  vestiges  of  French  phraseology  to  the  very  remotest  paths 
of  our  literar}^  domain,  let  us  examine  the  chronicles  of  the  Plantagenets,  and 
explore  the  writings  of  the  incomparable  Froissart.  His  v.orks  form  a  sort  of 
connecting  link  between  the  two  countries  during  the  wars  of  Cressy  and  Agin- 
court  :  he  was  alternately  a  page  at  the  court  of  Blois,  a  minstrel  at  the  coun 
of  Winceslas  in  Brabant,  a  follower  of  the  French  King  Charles,  and  a 
stiivant  of  Queen  Phiiippa  of  England.  Though  a  clergyman,  he  was 
decidedly  to  be  classified  under  \\\q.  genus  troubadour,  partaking  more  of  tliat 
character  than  of  any  ecclesiastical  peculiarities.  For,  lest  I  should  do  liim 
injustice  by  giving  of  his  life  and  opinions  a  false  idea  to  my  reader,  I  shall  let 
him  draw  his  own  portrait  : 

"  Au  boire  je  prends  grand  plaisir, 
Aussi  fais-je  en  beau  draps  vestir : 
Oir  de  menestrel  parolles, 
Veoir  danses  et  carolles  ; 

Violettes  en  leur  saison, 
Et  roses  blanches  et  veimeilles  ; 

Voye  volontiers,  car  c'est  raison, 
Jeu.x,  et  danses,  et  longues  veilles, 
Et  chajnbres pleine  de  candeilles."* 

*  "Tis  a  pity  that  the  poetical  works  of  this  eminent  man  should  be  still  locke-.l  r.p  in 
MS.  in  the  Biblioth.  du  Roi ;  but  a  few  fragments  have  been  printed,  and  these  ;ire  so 
characteristic  and  racj',  that  they  create  a  longing  for  the  remainder.     Whoever  has  taa 


156  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Now  this  jolly  dog  Froissart  was  the  intimate  friend  and  boon  comrade  of 
our  excellent  Geoffrey  Chaucer  ;  and  no  doubt  the  two  worthy  dercs  cracked 
many  a  bottle  together,  if  not  in  Cheapside,  at  least  on  this  side  of  the  Channel. 
How   far   Geoffrey  was  indebted  to   the   Frenchman    for  his  anecdotes  and 
stories,  for  his  droll  style  of  narrative,  and  the  pungent  salt  with  which  he  has 
seasoned  that  primitive  mess  of  porridge,  the  "Canterbury  Tales,"  it  would  be 
curious  to  investigate;   here  I  merely  throw  out   the  hint  for  D' Israeli.     With 
my  sprat  he  will  doubtless  catch  a  whale.     But  it  is  singular  to  find  the  most 
distinguished  of   f>ance,    England,    and    Italy's  contemporary   authors    met 
shortly  after,  as  if  by  mutual  appointment,  in  Provence,  the  land  of  song.     It 
was  on  the  occasion  of  a  Duke  of  Clarence's  visit  to  Milan  to  marry  the 
daughter  of  Galeas  II.  ;  a  ceremony  graced  by  the  presence  of  the  Count  of 
Savoy  and  the  King  of  Cyprus,  besides  a  host  of  literary  celebrities.     Thither 
came  Ch  nicer,  Froissart,  and  Petrarca,  by  one  of  those  chance  dispositions  of 
fortune  winch  seem  the  result  of  a  most  provident  foresight,  and  as  if  the 
triple  genius  of  French,  English,  and  Italian  literature  had  presided  over  their 
reunion.     1:  was  a  literary  congress,  of  which  the  consequences  are  felt  to  the 
present  day,  in  the  common  agreement  of  international  feeling  in  the  grand 
federal  republic  of  letters.     Of  that  eventful  colloquy  between  these  most  worthy 
representatives  of  the  three  leading  literatures  of  Europe,  nothmg  has  tran- 
spired but  the  simple  fact  of  its   occurrence.     Still,  one  thing  is  certain,  viz. 
that  there  were  then  very  few  features  of  difference  in  even  the  languages  of 
the  three  nations  which   have  branched  off,  since  that  period,  in  such  wide 
divergency  of  idiom  : 

"  When  shall  we  three  meet  again  I  " 

Chaucer  has  acknowledged  that  it  was  from  Petrarch  he  learned,  on  that 
occasion,  the  story  of  Griselda  ;  which  story  Petrarch  had  picked  up  in 
Provence,  as  I  shall  show  by-and-by,  on  producing  the  original  French 
ballad.  But  here  is  the  receipt  of  Chaucer,  duly  signed,  and  most  circum- 
stantial : 

"  I  wol  you  tel  a  tale,  the  which  that  I 
Lerned  at  Padowe,  of  a  worthy  clerc, 
As  proved  by  his  wordes  and  his  werk. 
He  is  now  dead,  and  nailed  in  his  chest, 
I  pray  to  God  to  geve  his  sowle  rest. 
Frauncis  Petrark,  the  laureat  poete, 
Hight  was  this  clerk,  whose  rhetoricke  so  swete 
Enlumined  all  Itaille  of  poetrie." 

Prologue  to  Griselidis,  in  "Cafit.  Tales." 

We  learn  from  William  of  Malmesbury  (lib.  iii.),  and  from  various  con- 
temporary sources,  that  the  immediate  successors  of  the  Conqueror  brought 
over  from  Normandy  numbers  of  learned  men,  to  fill  the  ecclesiastical  and 
other  beneficial  employments  of  the  country,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  native 
English,  who  were  considered  dunces  and  unfit  for  oflice.  Any  one  who  had 
the  least  pretension  to  be  considered  a  sravant  clerc,  spoke  French  and  dis- 
dained the  idiom  of  his  fellow-countrymen.  In  the  reign  of  Henry  HI.  we 
have  Robert  Grossetcte,  the  well-known  Bishop  of  Lincoln  (who  was  born  in 
Suffolk),  writing  a  work  in  French  called  "  Le  Chasteau  d'Amour;  "  and 
another,  "  Le  rvlanuel  dcs  Pechces."  Of  tliis  practice  Chaucer  complains, 
somewhat  quaintly,  in  his  "Testament  of  Love  "   (ed.   1542)  :  "  Certes  there 

care  of  that  department  in  Paris  has  not  done  his  duty  to  the  public  in  withholding  the 
treasure.  Such  a  selfishness  might  be  e.vpected  from  a  churlish  collector  of  rarities  here 
at  home  ;  for  in  England  the  garden  of  MS.  is  kept  "by  a  dragon  ;"— but  in  Prance — 
proh  />udor .'— pKotr. 

Tlicy  were  published  in  1829,  in  one  vol.  8vo,  at  Paris,  by  J.  A.  Buchon— J.    Roche. 


TJie  Songs  of  France.  157 

ben  some  that  speke  thyr  poysy  mater  in  Ffrench,  of  whyche  speche  the 
Ffrenchmen  have  as  gude  a  fantasye  as  we  have  in  hearing  of  Ffrench  mennes 
Englyshe."  Tanner,  in  his  "  Bibhoth.  Brit.,"  hath  left  us  many  curious  testi- 
monies of  the  feeling  which  then  prevailed  on  this  subject  among  the  jealous 
natives  of  England.     See  also  the  Harleian  MS.  3869. 

But  the  language  of  the  troubadours  still  remained  common  to  both  countries, 
when,  for  all  the  purposes  of  domestic  and  pubhc  life,  a  new  idiom  had  sprung 
up  in  each  separate  kingdom.  Extraordinary  men  !  These  songsters  were  the 
favourites  of  every  court,  and  the  patronized  of  every  power.  True,  their  life 
was  generally  dissolute,  and  their  conduct  unscrupulous ;  but  the  mantle  of 
poetic  inspiration  seem=;  to  have  covered  a  multitude  of  sins.  I  cannot  better 
characterize  the  men,  and  the  times  in  which  they  lived,  than  by  introducing  a 
ballad  of  Beranger— the  "  Dauphin  :  " 

LA   NAISSAXCE    DU    DAUPHIN. 

Du  bon  vieux  terns  souffrez  que  je  vous  parle. 

Jadis  Richard,  troubadour  renomme, 
Avait  pour  Roj''  Jean,  Louis,  Philippe,  ou  Charle, 

Ne  s?ais  lequel,  mais  il  en  fut  aime. 
D'un  gros  dauphin  on  fetait  la  naissance  ; 

Richard  a  Blois  etait  depuis  un  jour  : 
II  apprit  la  le  bonheur  de  la  France. 

Pour  voire  roi  chantez,  gai  troubadour  ! 
Chantez,  chantez,  jeune  et  gai  troubadour  ! 

La  harpe  en  main  Richard  vient  sur  la  place  : 

Chacun  lui  dit,  "  Chantez  notre  garden  !  " 
Devotement  a  la  Vierge  il  rend  grace, 

Puis  au  dauphin  consacre  une  chanson. 
On  I'applaudit  ;  I'auteur  etait  en  veine  : 

Mainte  beaute  le  trouve  fait  au  tour, 
Disant  tout  bas,  "//  doit plaire  a  la  reine  !  " 

Pour  votre  roi  chantez,  gai  troubadour  ! 
Chantez,  chantez,  jeune  et  gai  troubadour  ! 

Le  chant  fini,  Richard  court  a  I'egHse  ; 

Qu'y  va-t-il  faire?     II  cherche  un  confesseur. 
II  en  trouve  un,  gros  moine  a  barbe  grise, 

Des  moeurs  du  terns  inflexible  censeur. 
"  Ah,  sauvez  moi  des  flammes  eternelles  ! 
Mon  pere  helas  !  c'e^t  un  vilain  sejour." 
"  QuAVEZ-vofs  FAIT  ?  "     "  J'ai  trop  aime  les  belles  !  " 
Pour  votre  roi  chantez,  gai  troubadour  ! 
Chantez,  chantez,  jeune  et  gai  troubadour  ! 

"  Le  grand  malheur,  mon  pfere,  c'est  qu'on  m'aime  !  " 

"  PaRLEZ,  IMON    FILS  !    EXPLIQUEZ-VOUS    ENFIN." 

"  J'ai  fait,  helas  !  narguant  le  diademe, 

Un  gros  peche  !  car  j'ai  fait — un  dauphin  !  ! " 
D'abord  le  moine  a  la  mine  ebahie  : 

Mais  il  reprend,  "Vous-etes  bien  en  cour? — 

POURVOVEZ-Nors    d'uXE    RICHE    ABBAYE." 

Pour  votre  roi  chantez,  gai  troubadour  ! 
Chantez,  chantez,  jeune  et  gai  troubadoiu: ! 

Le  moine  ajoute  :  "  Eut-on  fait  tt  la  reine 
L'n  prince  ou  deux,  on  peut-etre  sauve. 
Parlez  de  nous  a  notre  souveraine  : 

Allez,  mon  tils  !  vous  direz  cinq  Ave." 
Richard  absous,  gagnant  la  capitale, 

_Au  nouveau-ne  voit  prodiguer  Tamour ; 
Vive  a  jamais  notre  race  roj'ale  ! 

Pour  votre  roi  chantez,  gai  troubadour  ! 
Chantez,  chantez,  jeune  et  gai  troubadour  ! 


15^  TJie  Works  of  FatJicr  Protit. 


THE    DAUPHIN'S    BIRTHDAY. 

Let  me  sing  you  a  song  of  the  good  old  times, 

About  Ri'jhard  the  troubadour, 
\Vh  J  wa-^  loved  by  the  king  and  the  queen  for  his  rhymes  ; 
but  by  which  of  our  kings  I'm  not  sure. 
'  ZTow  a  dauphin  was  born  while  the  court  was  at  Blois, 

Ai)J  all  France  felt  a  gladness  pure  ; 
!  Richard's  heart  leapt  for  joy  when  he  heard  'twas  a  boy. 

',  Sing  f  jr  your  king,  young  and  gay  troubadour  ! 

i  Sing  well  you  may,  troubadour  young  and  gay  ! 

I  So  he  went  with  his  harp,  on  his  proud  shoulder  hung, 

I'o  x\x":  court,  the  resort  of  the  gay  ; 
To  the  \'ir  Tin  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving  he  sung, 
L  For  the  dauphin  a  new  "  roftdelay.'' 

\  And  our  nobles  tlock'd  round  at  the  heart-stirring  sound, 

And  their  dames,  dignified  and  demure, 
Praised  his  bold,  gallant  mien,  and  said,  "He'll filease  the  qiieeti  I" 
Sing  for  your  king,  young  and  gay  troubadour  ! 
Oh,  sing  well  you  may,  troubadour  young  and  gay  ! 

But  the  song  is  now  hush'd,  and  the  crowd  is  dispersed  : 

To  the  abbey,  lo  I  Richard  repairs, 
And  he  seeks  an  old  monk,  in  the  legend  well  versed, 

With  a  long  flowing  beard  and  grey  hairs. 
And  '■  (Jh,  save  me  I  "  he  cries,  "  holy  father,  from  hell  ; 

'  i'is  a  place  which  the  soul  can't  endure  I  " 
"  Ok  YoiK  SHRIFT  TELL  THE  DRIFT  ; "  "  ^'ni  trop  aiiiie  It'S  lelUs  I  " 
Sing  for  your  king,  young  and  gay  troubadour  ! 
Sing  well  you  may,  troubadour  young  and  gay  ! 

"  But  the  worst  is  untold  !  "     "  Haste,  mv  soxne,  and  be  shriven  ; 

Tell  vol!^  giilt — its  results — how  vou  sinned,  and  how  often." 
"  Oh,  my  guilt  it  is  great  ! — can  my  sin  be  forgiven — 

Its  result,  holy  monk  !  is— alas,  'tis  a  dalphin  I  " 
And  the  friar  grew  pale  at  so  startling  a  tale. 

But  he  whisper'd,   'For  l's,  sonne,  procure 
(She  will  gr.^nt  it,  I  ween)  abbev  land  from  the  queen." 
Sing  for  your  king,  young  and  gay  troubadour  ! 
Sing  well  you  may,  troubadour  young  and  gay  ! 

Then  the  monk  said  a  prayer,  and  the  sin,  light  as  air. 

Flew  away  from  the  penitent's  soul ; 
And  to  Paris  went  Richard  to  sing  for  the  fair, 

"  Virelai,"  sonnet  gay,  and  "  carolle  ;  " 
And  he  mingled  with  joj-  in  the  festival  there. 

Oh  !  while  beauty  and  song  can  allure, 
May  our  old  royal  race  never  want  for  an  heir  ! 

Sing  for  your  king,  young  and  gay  troubadour  ! 
'  Sing  well  you  may,  troubadour  young  and  gay  ! 

It  does  not  enter  into  my  plan  to  expatiate  on  the  moral  conclusion  or  politi- 
cal tTTUiu^ioj/  whicii  this  ballad  suggests,  and  which  with  sarcastic  ingenuity  is 
j,  so  adroitly  insinuated.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  lyrical  epigram.  The  vein  of  thought 
I  is  deep  and  serious,  if  dug  by  the  admirers  of  hereditary  legislation  or  the 
defenders  of  tlie  divine  right  of  kings.  To  the  venerable  owls  who  flutter 
through  the  dark,  Gothic  purlieus  of  the  Heralds'  College,  this  view  of  the 
matter  may  sceiii  a  perfectly  "  new  light  :  "  in  sooth,  it  sheds  a  quiet  ray  on 
the  awful  sublimities  of  genealogical  investigation,  and  cannot  but  edify  the 
laborious  and  hyperpanegyrical  Mr.  Burke,  the  compiler  of  peerages  and  pedi- 
grees for  each  and  all  of  us.  E.xcellent  man  I  may  his  subscribers  be  as 
numerous  as  the  leaves  of  his  book,  and  his  gains  commensurate  with  the 
extent  of  human  vanity  !    Berangers  ode  on  tlie  Dauphin's  birthday  may  serve 


as  a  commentary  on  the  well-known  passage  of  Boileau  (pilfered  uncere- 
moniously by  Pope),  in  which  the  current  of  princely  blood  is  said  to  flow  "  de 
Lucrece  en  Lucrece  ;"  and  such  is  the  recognized  truth  of  the  commentary, 
that  I  understand  an  edition  of  the  song  has  been  published  by  order  of  the 
University  of  Prague,  in  Bohemia,  'tis  imagined,  "  in  usum  Delphini."  Vive 
Henri  Cinq  / 

On  all  matters  in  which  the  character  of  the  ladies  may  be  involved,  I 
recommend  constant  caution  and  the  most  scrupulous  forbearance  to  both  poets  . 
and  historians.  The  model  of  this  delicate  attention  may  be  lound  among  the 
troubadours.  I  more  particularly  allude  to  the  Norman  school  of  French 
poesie  ;  for  I  regret  to  state,  that  in  Provence  there  was  not  always  the  same 
veneration  and  mysterious  homage  paid  to  the  gentler  sex,  whose  very  frailties 
should  be  shrouded  by  the  poet,  and  concealed  from  the  vulgar  gaze  of  the 
profane.  In  Normandy  and  the  adjacent  provinces  the  spirit  of  chivalry  was 
truly  such  as  described  by  our  hot-headed  Irish  orator,  when,  speaking  of 
Marie  Antoinette,  he  fancies  ten  thousand  swords  ready  to  leap  from  their 
scabbards  at  the  very  suspicion  of  an  insult.  This  instinctive  worship  of 
beauty  seems  to  have  accompanied  that  gallant  race  of  noble  adventurers  from 
their  Scandinavian  settlements  beyond  the  Kibe  and  the  Rhine  ;  for  we  find  the 
sentiment  attributed  to  their  ancestors  by  Tacitus,  in  his  admirable  work  "  De 
Moribus  Germanorum,"  where  he  writes,  as  well  as  I  can  recollect,  as  follows  : 
"  Inesse  quinetiam  fceminis  sanctum  aliquid  et  providum  putant."  The  ballad 
of  "  Griselidis,"  to  which  I  have  made  allusion  in  talking  of  the  "  Canterbury 
Tales,"  and  which  I  then  promised  to  give  in  its  original  old  Norman  simplicity, 
finely  illustrates  all  that  is  noble  and  chivalrous  in  their  respect  for  female 
loveliness  and  purity.  My  English  version,  to  harmonize  with  the  French,  runs 
in  the  old  ballad  idiom,  as  nearly  as  I  can  imitate  that  quaint  style. 


GRISELEDIS. 

RoDiance. 

Escoutez  icy  jouvencelles, 

Escoutez  aussj'  damoiseaiix, 
Vault  mieux  estre  bone  que  belle, 

Vault  mieux  estre  loyal  que  beau  \ 
Eeaute  passe,  passe  jeunesse, 

Bonte  reste  et  gagne  les  coeurs ; 
Avec  doulceur  et  gentilesse 

Espines  se  changent  en  fleurs. 

Belle,  mais  pauvre  et  souffreteiise, 

Vivoit  jadis  Griseledis  ; 
Alloit  aux  champs,  estoit  glaneuse, 

Filoit  beau  lin,  gardoit  brebis  ; 
N 'estoit  fylle  de  hault  parage, 

N'av-oit  comte  ny  joyaux  d'or, 
JIais  avoit  plus,  car  estait  sage — 

Mieulx  vault  sagesse  que  tresor  ! 


Ung  jour  qu'aux  champs  estoit  seulette, 

Vinst  a  passer  Sire  Gauhier, 
Las  !  sans  chien  estoit  la  pauvrette, 

Sans  page  estoit  le  chevalier  ; 
Mais  en  ce  siecle,  oil  I'innocence 

I^ 'avoit  a  craindre  aucun  danger, 
Vertu  veilloit,  dormoit  prudence, 

Beaulx  tems  n'auriez  pas  du  changer  ! 


GRISELDA. 

A  Roniaunt. 

List  to  my  ballad,  for  'twas  made  expresse. 

Damsels,  for  you ; 
Better  to  be  (bej'ond  all  lovelinesse) 

Loyall  and  true  ! 
Fadeth  fair    face,  bright   beauty    blooms 
awhile, 

Soon  to  departe  ; 
Goodness  abydeth  aye  ;  and  gentle  smyle 

Gaineth  y*  hearte. 

There  lived  a  maiden,  beautifull  but  poore. 

Gleaning  ye  fields  ; 
Poor  pittaunce  shepherd's  crook  upon  y« 
moor. 

Or  distaff  yields  ! 
Yet  tho'  no  castel  hers  had  ever  been_, 

Jewells  nor  golde, 
Kindnesse  she  hadde  and  virtue  ;  thyngs, 
I  ween. 

Better  fowr  folde  1 

One  day  a  cavalier,  Sir  Walter  hight, 

Travell'd  that  way  ; 
Nor  dogge  y^  shepherdesse,  nor  page  y« 
knight 

Hadde  on  that  day. 
But  In  those  times  of  Innocence  and  truth. 

Virtue  alone 
Kept  vigil  in  our  land  ;   bright  days,  in 
sooth, 

Where  are  ye  gone  ? 


i6o 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Tant  que  sommeille  la  bergere. 

Beau  sire  eust  le  tems  d'admirer, 
Mais  dfes  qu'entr'ouvrist  la  paupifere. 

Fust  forc6  de  s'en  amourer  ; 
"  Belle,"  dit-il,  "serez  ma  mie. 

Si  voulez  venir  a  ma  cour "'  " 
"  Nenny,  seigneur,  vous  remercie, 

Honneur  vault  bien  playsir  d'amour?  " 


Lon^ 


she    slept,    he 


on    y«   maiden, 
gazed — ■ 

Could  gaze  ior  months  ! 
But  when  awaking,  two  soft  eyelids  raised, 

Loved  her  at  once  ! 
"  Fair  one,  a  knight's  true  love  canst  thou 
despise, 

With  golden  store  ?  " 
"  Sir  Knight,  true  love  I  value,  but  I  prize 

Honour  far  more  1 " 

"  I,  too,  prize  honour  above  high  descent 

And  all  beside  ; 
Maiden,  be  mine  !  yea,  if  thou  wilt  con- 
sent. 

Be  thou  my  bride  ! 
Swear  but  to  do  y*  bidding  of  thy  liege 

Faithful  and  fond." 
"Tell  not  of  oaths.   Sir  Knight;    is  not 
love's  pledge 

A  better  bond  ?  " 

Not  for  his  castel  and  his  broad  domain, 

Spoke  so  ye  maid, 
But  that  she  loved  ye  handsome  knight — 
Love  fain 
Would  be  obey'd. 
On  ye  same  charger  with  the  knight  she 
rodde. 
So  pass'd  along ; 
Xor  blame  fear'd  she,  for  then  all  hearts 
were  good  ; 
None  dreamd  of  wrong. 

And  they  rodde  on  untill  rose  on  ye  sight 

His  castel  towers  ; 
And  there  that  maiden  lived  with  that  good 
knight 

In  marriage  bowers, 
Diffusing  blessings  among  all  who  dwelt 

Within  that  vale  : 
Goodness  abydeth  aye—  her  smile  is  felt, 

Tho'  beauty  fail ! 

Lives  there  one  with  soul  so  dead  as  not  to  admire  the  genuine  high-minded- 
ness  of  these  primitive  times,  expressed  in  this  pleasing  record  of  what  was  no 
romance,  but  matter  of  frequent  occurrence  in  the  days  of  chivalry?  The 
ballad  has  got  into  many  languages,  and  is  interwoven  with  the  traditional 
recollections  of  many  a  noble  liouse ;  but  the  original  is  undoubtedly  the 
aV)Ove.  T'om  Moore  (whose  rogueries  are  infinite)  has  twisted  it  into  a  thing 
which  he  calls  a  melody,  "  You  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's  pride ;  "  and  he 
has  tacked  a  note  to  the  stolen  ditty,  wherein,  witli  his  usual  tuft-hunting  and 
toad-eating  propensities,  he  seeks  to  connect  the  story  with  "  an  interesting  tale 
told  of  a  certain  noble  family  in  I'ngland."  Unfortunately  for  such  attempts, 
the  lays  of  the  Norman  troubadours,  like  the  Government  ropes  in  the  dock- 
yard at  Portsmouth,  have  in  their  te.xture  a  certain  inimitable  twist  and 
peculiarity  of  workmanship  by  which  they  are  recognized  at  once  when  they 
get  into  the  possession  of  thieves. 

These  Normans  were  a  glorious  race  !  No,  neither  the  sons  of  Greece  in 
their  palmiest  days  of  warlike  adventure  {oy\o^  Ax«'w).  nor  the  children  of 
the  Tiber,  that  miscellany  of  bandits  and  outlaws  [tinlhi  A'cmi),  ever  displayed 
such  daring  energy  as  the  tribe  of  enterprising  Northerns  who,  in  the  seventh, 
eighth,  and  subsequent  centuries,  affrighted  and  dazzled  the  world  with  the 


"  Vertu,  dit-il,  passe  noblesse  ! 

Serez  ma  femme  dfes  ce  jour — 
Serez  dame,  serez  comtesse. 

Si  me  jurez,  au  nom  d'amour, 
De  m'obeir  quand  devrai,  meme 

Bien  durement,  vous  ordonner  ?  " 
"  Sire,  obeTr  a  ce  qu'on  aime 

Est  bien  plus  doux  que  commander  ?  " 


Ne  jura  pour  estre  comtesse, 

^Iais  avoit  vu  le  chevalier  ; 
A  I'amour  seul  fist  la  promesse  : 

Puis  monta  sur  son  destrier. 
N'avoit  besoin  de  bienseances 

Le  tems  heureux  des  bonnes  raoeurs  ; 
Fausses  etoient  les  apparances. 

Nobles  et  vrays  estoient  les  coeurs  1 


Tant  chevauch^rent  par  la  plaine 

Qu'arriverent  a  la  cite  ; 
Griseledis  fust  souveraine 

De  ce  riche  et  puissant  comte  ; 
Chascun  I'aima  ;  sous  son  empire 

Chascun  ressentit  ses  bienfaits  : 
Beaute  previent.  doulceur  attire 

Bonte  gagne  et  fixe  a  jamais  ! 


The  Songs  of  France. 


i6i 


splendour  of  their  achievements.  From  the  peninsula  of  Jutland,  their  narrow 
home  on  the  Baltic,  they  went  forth  to  select  the  choicest  and  the  fairest 
pro\ince5  of  the  south  for  their  portion  :  the  banks  of  the  Seine,*  the  kingdom 
of  Naples,  the  island  of  Sicily,  the  Morea,  Palestine,  Constantinople,  England, 
Ireland,— thev  conquered  in'  succession.  The  proudest  names  in  each  land 
through  which  they  passed  glorj-  in  tracing  up  a  Ncrman  origin ;  and  while 
their  descendants  ionn  the  truest  and  most  honourable  aristocracy  in  Europe, 
their  troubadours  still  reign  paramount,  and  unsurpassed  in  every  mode  and 
form  of  the  tuneful  mystery.  The  architectural  remains  of  that  wonderful  people 
are  not  more  picturesque  and  beautiful  than  the  fragments  of  their  ballads 
and  their  war-songs ;  and  Beranger  himself  tby  the  bye,  a  Norman  patrony- 
mic, and  an  evidence  of  the  poet's  excellent  hneage)  has  but  inherited  the  l}Te 
of  that  celebrated  minstrel  who  is  thus  described  in  a  contemporar}-  poem  on 
the  conquest  of  this  island  by  William  : 


Tailiefer  ki  mult  bien  cantout, 
^  ur  ung  cheval  ki  tost  allout, 
Devant  ie  host  allout  cantant 
De  Karlemain  e  de  Rollant. 


Dan  Talh-fer,  who  sang  right  well. 
Borne  on  a  goodlj-  haridelle. 
Pranced  in  the  van  and  led  the  train, 
With  songs  of  Ronald  and  Charlemaine. 


But  I  venture  to  sav,  that  never  was  Charlemagne  sung  by  his  ablest  trouba- 
dour in  loftier  strains  than  those  in  which  Beranger  has  chanted  the  great 
modem  inheritor  of  his  iron  crown,  anointed  like  him  by  a  Pope,  and  like  him 
the  sole  arbitrator  of  European  kingdoms  and  destinies. 


POPULAR  RECOLLECTIONS 
OF  NAPOLEON. 


LES  SOUVENIRS  DU 
PEUPLE. 

Beranger. 

On  parlera  de  sa  gloire 
Sous  le  chaume  bien  long-temps  ; 
L'humble  toit,  dans  cinquante  ans, 
Ne  connaitra  plus  d'autre  histoire. 
La  viendront  les  N-illageois 
Dire  alors  a  quelque  \'ieille  ; 
Par  des  recits  d'autrefois. 
Mere,  abregez  notre  veille  : 
Bien,  dit-on,  qu'il  nous  ait  nui, 
Le  peuple  encor  le  revere, 

Oui,  le  revere. 
Parlez-nous  de  lui,  grand'mere  ! 

Parlez-nous  de  lui ! 

"  Mes  enfans,  dans  ce  \-ilIage, 
Suivi  de  rois,  il  passa, 
Voila  bien  long-temps  de  9a  : 
Je  venais  d'entrer  en  menage. 
A  pied  grimpant  le  coteau, 
Ou  pour  voir  je  m'etais  mise  ; 
II  avait  petit  chapeau, 
Avec  redingote  grise. 
Pres  de  lui  je  me  troublai, 

*  Such  was  the  terror  with  which  thev  inspired  the  natives  of  France  before  Duke 
Rollo^s  conversion  to  Christianity,  that  there  is  in  the  office  of  the  Parisian  Bre\-iarj-  a 
hj-mn,  composed  about  that  period,  and  containing  a  prayer  agamst  the  >  ormans— 

"  Auferte  gentem  perfidam 

Credentium  de  fiinibus,"  (tc,  &c.; 

which  remains  to  this  day  a  memorial  of  consternation. — pRCUT.  , 


They  11  talk  of  him  for  years  to  come. 

In  cottage  chronicle  and  tale  ! 
"When  for  aught  else  renown  is  dumb. 

His  legend  shall  prevail  I 
Then  in  the  hamlet's  honour'd  chair 

Shall  sit  some  aged  dame. 
Teaching  to  lowly  clown  and  \'illager 

That  narrative  of  fame. 
Tis  true,  they'll  say,  his  gorgeous  throne 
France  bled  to  r:;ise  ; 
But  he  was  all  our  own  ! 
Tilother  !  say  something  in  his  praise — 

O  speak  of  him  always  1 

"  I  saw  him  pass  :  his  was  a  host  :  _ 

Countless  beyond  your  yoimg  imagin- 
ings— 
My  chi'.dren,  he  could  boast 

A  train  of  conquer'd  kings  I 
And  when  he  came  this  road, 

'Twas  on  my  bridal  day. 
He  wore,  for  near  to  him  I  stood, 

Cock'd  hat  and  surcoat  grey. 


1 62 


TJie  Works  of  FatJier  Front. 


II  me  dit,  '  Bonjour,  ma  chfere  ! 

bonjour,  ma  ch^re  ! ' " 
11  vous  a  parle,  grand'ra^re  ! 

II  vous  a  parle  ! 

"  L'an  d'aprfes,  moi  pauvTe  femme, 
A  Paris  etant  un  jour, 
Je  le  vis  avec  sa  cour  ; 
11  se  rendait  a  Notre-Dame. 
Tous  les  coeurs  etaient  contens  ; 
On  admirait  son  cortfege, 
Chacun  disait,  '  Quel  beau  terns  I 
Le  Ciel  toujours  le  protege.' 
Son  sourire  etait  bien  doux, 
D'un  fils  Dieu  le  rendait  pfere, 

Le  rendait  pere  !  " — 
Quel  beau  jour  pour  vous,  grand'm^re 

Quel  beau  jour  pour  vous  ! 


"  Mais  quand  la  pau%Te  Champagne 
Fut  en  proie  aux  etrangers, 
Lui,  bravant  tous  les  dangers, 
Semblait  seul  tenir  la  campagne. 
Un  soir,  tout  comrae  aujourd'hui, 
J'entends  frapper  a  la  porte  ; 
yovivre,  bon  Dieu  I  c'etait  lli  I 
Suivi  d'une  faible  escorte. 
11  s'asseoit  oil  me  voila, 
S'ecriant  :  '  Oh,  quelle  guerre  I 

Oh,  quelle  guerre  ! ' " — 
II  s'est  assis  la,  grand 'mere  ! 

II  s'est  assis  la  ! 

"  '  J'ai  faim,'  dit-il ;  et  bien  vite 
Je  sers  piquette  et  pain  bis. 
Puis  il  secbe  ses  habits  ; 
Meme  a  dormir  le  feu  I'invite. 
Au  reveii,  voyant  mes  pleurs. 
II  me  dit  :  "  Bonne  esperancc  ! 
Je  cours  de  tous  ses  malheurs 
Sous  Paris  vender  la  France  ! 
11  part ;  et  comme  un  tresor 
J'ai  depuis  garde  son  verre. 

Garde  son  verre." — 
Vous  I'avez  encor,  grand'mere  I 

Vous  I'avez  encor  I 


"  Le  voici.     Mais  a  sa  perte 
Le  h^ros  fut  entraine. 
Lui,  qu'LN  P.A.i'E  a  couronne. 
Est  mort  dans  un  ile  deserie. 
Long-temps  aucun  ne  I'a  cru  ; 
On  disait  :  II  va  paraitre. 
Par  mer  il  est  accouru  ; 
L'etranger  va  voir  son  maitre. 
Quand  d'erreur  on  nous  tira. 
Ma  douleur  fut  bien  amfere. 

Fut  bien  amiire." — 
Dieu  vous  benira,  grand'mfere 

Dieu  vous  bunira  ! 


I  blush'd  ;  he  said,  '  Be  of  good  cheer  ! 
Courage,  my  dear  I ' 
That  was  his  very  word." — 
Mother  I  O  then  this  really  occurr'd, 
And_you  his  voice  could  hear  I 

"  A  year  roll'd  on,  when  ne.\t  at  Paris  I, 

Lone  woman  that  I  am. 
Saw  him  pass  bj-. 
Girt  with  his  peers,  to  kneel  at  Xotre  Dame. 
I  knew  by  merr>-  chime  and  signal  gun, 

God  granted  him  a  son, 

And  O  I  I  wept  for  joy  ! 
For  why  not  weep  when  warrior-men  did, 
^\^lo  gazed  upon  that  sight  so  splendid. 

And  blest  th'  imperial  boy "? 
Never    did    noonday    sun    shine    out    so 
bright  ! 

O  what  a  sight  !  " — 
Mother  I  for  you  that  must  have  been 

A  glorious  scene  ! 

"  But  when  all  Europe's  gather'd  strength 
Burst  o'er  the  French  frontier  at  length, 

'Twill  scarcely  be  believed 
^\^lat  wonders,  single-handed,  he  achieved, 

Such  general  ne'er  lived  I 
One  evening,  on  my  threshold  stood 

A  guest — 'tw.\s  he  !    Of  warriors  few 

He  had  a  toil-worn  retinue. 
He  flung  himself  into  this  chair  of  wood. 
Muttering,  meantime,  with  fearful  air, 

'  Qiu'lU  guerre  '.  oh,  quelle  guerre  !  '" — 
ISIother  !  and  did  our  emperor  sit  there, 
Upon  that  verj'  chair  ? 

"  He  said,  '  Give  me  some  food.'-  — 
Brown  loaf  I  gave,  and  homely  wine, 
And  made  the  kindling  fire-blocks  shine,. 
To  drj'  his  cloak  with  wet  bedew'd. 
Soon  by  the  bonny  blaze  he  slept. 
Then  waking  chid  me  (for  I  wept) ; 
'  Courage  I '  he  cried,  '  I'll  strike  for  all. 
Under  the  sacred  wall 
Of  France's  noble  capital  1 ' 
Those  were  his  words  :  I've  treasured  up 
With  pride  that  same  wine-cup  ; 
And  for  its  weight  in  gold 
It  never  shall  be  sold  I  " — 
Mother  !  on  that  proud  relic  let  us  gaze, 
O  keep  that  cup  always  I 

"  But,  through  some  fatal  witcherj-. 

He,  whom  .\  Pope    had  crown'd    and 
blest. 
Perish 'd,  my  sons  I  by  foulest  treachery'  : 

Cast  on  an  isle  far  in  the  lonely  West. 
Long  time  sad  rumours  were  afloat — 

The  fatal  tidings  we  would  spurn. 
Still  hoping  from  that  isle  remote 

Once  more  our  hero  would  return. 
But  when  the  dark  announcement  drew 

Tears  from  the  virtuous  and  the  brave — 
When  the  sad  whisper  proved  too  tnie, 

A  flood  of  grief  I  to  his  memory  gave. 
Peace  to  the  glorious  dead  !  " — 
Mother!  may  God  his  fullest  blessing  shed 
Upon  your  aged  head  I 


The  Songs  of  France.  163 

[RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  PEOPLE. 

Translated  from  Beraitger,  by  Charles  Kent. 

Long  beneath  the  thatch  his  glory 
Peasant  hearts  will  leap  to  sing: 
Fifty  years  and  cots  will  ring 
With  no  other  w-ond  rous  story. 
Then  the  villagers  will  throng 

'Round  the  knees  of  aged  dame, 
Sa},-ing,  "  Now  the  nights  are  long, 
Tell  us  of  the  Great  Man's  fame. 
What  though  death-cries  pealed  his  hymn, 
We  re%-ere  him  as  no  other, 

As  no  other  : 
Speak  to  us  of  him,  mother, 
Speak  to  us  of  him." 

"  Once,  my  children,  through  this  village. 
With  a  train  of  kings  he  passed. 
(Years  since  then  hath  time  amassed) 
Pausing  'mid  these  scenes  of  tillage. 
On  the  threshold  of  my  home, 

Here  I  heard  him  tread  the  ground. 
Here  on  foot  I  saw  him  come, 

In  grey  coat  and  hat  renowned  ! 
*  Good-day,  my  dear  I '  when  near  he  drew. 
He  said,  while  awe  I  tried  to  smother", 

Tried  to  smother." 
"  Then  he  spoke  to  you,  mother  ! 
Then  he  -spoke  to  you  ! " 

'■  Paris  summer  suns  did  render 
Radiant  ;  while  I,  standing  there, 
Saw  him  with  his  court  repair 
To  Notre  Dame  in  regal  splendour. 
Gladness  filled  the  hearts  of  all, 

Glorj'  bidding  each  rejoice. 
Golden  hours  I  their  tongues  did  call : 

God  will  guard  the  People's  Choice  ! 
Sweet  the  smiles  he  round  him  threw ; 
Heaven  had  blessed  him  as  a  father. 

As  a  father." 
■'  \\hat  brave  days  for  you,  mother  ! 
What  brave  days  for  you  !  " 

"  But  when  foreign  bands  had  taken 

Champagne's  fair  but  ravaged  fields, —  ( 

When  all  else  flung  by  their  shields  1 

He  alone  remained  unshaken.  I 

One  evening — as  it  might  be  this —  j 

I  heard  a  knock,  and  oped  the  door :  • 

Great  God  1  'twas  he — no  form  but  his,  i 

And  with  him  two  or  three — no  more. 
Then,  seated  on  th's  very  chair. 

He  sighed,  '  Why  war  we  with  each  other, 

With  each  other  ! '  " 
"  What  then,  he  sat  there,  mother  ! 
What  then,  he  sat  there  I  " 

"  Wants  were  liis,  thus  ill  requited. 
Poorest  wine  and  bread  supplied  : 
On  the  hearth  his  garb  he  dried, 
'  While  the  fire  to  sleep  invited. 


164 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Waking,  when  he  saw  my  tears, 

'  Ha\e  some  httle  hope,'  he  said  ; 
'  I  go  to  shelter  France  from  fears, 

And  avenge  my  heroes  dead.' 
He  went  :  since  when  great  store  I've  set 
On  his  glass  more  than  all  other, 

Than  all  other." 
"  And  you  have  it  yet,  mother  ? 
And  you  have  it  yet  ?  " 

"  'Tis  here  !     But  while  his  cup  I  cherished 
He  in  villain  bonds  was  bound  : 
He  a  holy  Pope  had  crowned, 
In  a  desert  island  perished. 
Doubting  long  if  such  could  be. 

We  cried,  '  He  yet  will  reappear, 
Coming  from  the  southern  sea. 

Lord  of  foes  who  then  shall  fear  ! ' 
All  known  :  most  bitter  grief  did  fill 

These  eyes  that  wept  as  for  a  brother. 

For  a  brother  !  " 
"  God  will  bless  you  still,  mother  ! 
God  will  bless  you  still  !  "] 

Such  songs  embalm  the  glories  of  a  conqueror  in  the  hearts  of  the  people, 
and  will  do  more  to  endear  the  memory  of  Napoleon  to  posterity  than  all  the 
efforts  of  the  historian.  Can  it  be  believed,  however,  that  the  government 
which  lately  disgraced  France — that  of  the  imbecile  Charles  X. — had  the  folly 
to  pick  a  personal  quarrel  with  this  powerful  master  of  the  lyre,  and  to  provoke 
the  wrath  of  genius,  which  no  one  yet  aroused  and  got  off  unscathed  by  its 
hghtning.  teranger  was  prosecuted  before  the  coiir  d'assizes  for  a  song ! 
And  nothing,  perhaps,  contributed  more  to  the  catastrophe  that  soon  overtook 
the  persecutor  of  the  Muses  than  the  disgrace  and  ridicule  which  covered  the 
royal  faction,  in  consequence  of  his  attack  on  the  liberty  of  the  press  and  the 
freedom  of  that  freest  of  all  trades,  the  craft  of  the  troubadour.  The  pro- 
phecy contained  m  the  ode  was  realized  to  the  letter  :  even  the  allusion  to  that 
old  Gallic  emblem  the  cock,  which  I. at/ is  Philippe  made  the  ornament  of  the 
restored  tricolor,  confirms  the  fact  of  inspiration. 


LE  VIEUX  DRAPEAU. 


Beranger. 

De  mes  vieux  compagnons  de  gloire 

Je  v:ens  de  me  voir  entoure  ; 

Nos  souvenirs  m'ont  enivre, 
Le  vin  m'a  rendu  la  mcmoire. 

Fier  de  mes  exploits  et  des  leurs, 
J  'ai  mon  drapeau  dans  ma  chaumiere- 
Qiiand  scconrai-jc  la  pmissierc 

Qui  tcrnit  scs  ttol'les  coulcursl 


II  est  cach6  sous  rhumble  paille 
Ou  je  dors,  pauvre  ct  mutilo, 
Lui  qui,  sflr  de  vaincre,  a  yol6 

Vingt  ans  dc  batalUe  en  bataille 


THE  THREE-COLOURED 
FLAG. 

(^J  prosecuted  Soito.') 

Comrades,  around  this  humble  board. 
Here's   to  our  banner's  by-gone   splen- 
dour. 
There  may  be  treason  in  that  word — 
All  Europe  may  the  proof  alTord  — 
All  France  be  the  offender  ; 
But  drink  the  toast 
That  gladdens  most, 
Fires  the  young  heart  and  cheers  the  old— 
'  'j\Iay  France  once  more 

Her  tri-color 
Blest  with  new  life  behold !  " 

Li.st  to  my  secret.     That  old  flag 
Under  my  bed  of  straw  is  hidden, 

Sacred  to  glory  !     War-worn  rag  ! 
'J'hee  no  infortncr  thence  shall  drag, 
Nor  dastard  spy  say  'tis  forbiddai. 


The  Songs  of  France. 


i6s 


Charge  de  lauriers  et  de  fleurs, 
II  brilla  sur  I'Europe  entiere — 
Quand  secourai-je  la  poiissiere 

Qui  ternii  ses  7iobles  couleurs  I 


Ce  drapeau  paj-ait  a  la  France 

Tout  le  sang  qu'il  nous  a  coute  : 

Sur  la  sein  de  la  liberie 
Nos  fils  jouaient  avec  sa  lance  ; 

Qu'il  prouve  encor  aux  oppresseurs 
Combien  la  gloire  est  roturiere — 
Quand  seco7irai-je  la  poussiere 

Qui  teriiit  ses  fiobles  couleurs  ! 


Son  aig-le  est  reste  dans  la  poudre, 

Fatigue  de  lointains  exploits  ; 

Rendons-lui  le  cog  des  Gaulois, 
II  s?ut  aussi  lancer  la  foudre. 

La  France,  oubliant  ses  douleurs, 
Le  rebe'nira  libra  et  fiere — 
Qitafid  sccourai-je  la  poiissiere 

Qui  tentit  ses  7iobles  couleurs  I 


Las  d'errer  avec  la  victoire, 
Des  LOIS  il  deviendra  lappui  | 
Chaque  soldat  fut,  grace  a  lui, 

CiTOYEN  aux  bords  de  la  Loire. 
Seul  il  pent  voiler  nos  malheurs, 

Deployons-le  sur  la  fronti^re — 

Quand  secoitrai-je  la  poussiere 
Qjii  ter?iit  ses  nobles  couleurs  ! 


Mais  il  est  la  prSs  de  mes  armes  ! 

L'n  instant  osons  I'entrevoir  ; 

Viens,  mon  drapeau  !  viens,  mon  espoir ! 
C'est  a  toi  d'cssuyer  mes  larmes  ! 

D'un  guerrier  qui  verse  des  pleurs 
Le  Ciel  entendra  la  priere — 
Qui,je  secotterai  la  poiissiere 

Qui  ternit  ses  nobles  couleurs  ! 


France,  1  can  vouch. 

Will,  from  its  couch, 
The  dormant  symbol  yet  unfold, 

A  nd  wave  07ice  more 

Her  tri-color 
Through  Europe,  luicoJitroW d  ! 

For  every  drop  of  blood  we  spent, 

Did  not  that  flag  give  value  plenty  ? 
Were  not  our  children  as  they  went. 
Jocund,  to  join  the  warrior's  tent, 
Soldiers  at  ten,  heroes  at  twenty? 
France  !  who  were  then 
Your  noblemen  ? 
Not  tJiey  of  parchment-must  and  mould  ! 
But  tfiey  who  bore 
Vo7ir  tri-color 
Through  Europe,  nncontroll  'd  ! 

Leipsic  hath  seen  our  eagle  fall. 
Drunk    with    renown,    worn    out    with 
glory  ; 
But,  with  the  emblem  of  old  Gaul 
Crowning  our  standard,  we'll  recall 
The  brightest  days  of  Vabnys  storj' ! 
With  terror  pale 
Shall  despots  quail, 
■\Vhen  in  their  ear  the  tale  is  told. 
Of  France  once  more 
Her  tri-color 
Preparing  to  unfold  ! 

Trust  not  the  lawless  ruffian  chiel. 

Worse  than  the  vilest  monarch  he  ! 
Down  with  the  dungeon  and  Bastille  ! 
But  let  our  country  never  kneel 
To  that  grim  idol,  Anarchy  ! 
Strength  shall  appear 
On  our  frontier — 
France  shall  be  Liberty's  stronghold  ! 
Then  earth  once  more 
Tlie  tri-color 
With  blessittgs  shall  behold  ! 

O  my  old  flag  !  that  liest  hid, 

There  where  my  sword  and  musket  lie — 
Banner,  come  forth  !  for  tears  unbid 
Are  filling  fast  a  warrior's  lid, 
Which  thou  alone  canst  dry. 
A  soldier's  grief 
Shall  find  relief: 
A  veteran's  heart  shall  be  consoled — 
Erance  shall  once  more 
Her  tri-color 
Triumphantly  uti/old! 


After  this  warlike  outburst,  this  glorious  dithyramb,  worthy  of  the  days  wnen 
the  chivaW  of  France  took  solemnly  the  oriflame  from  the  Abbey  of  St.  Denis, 
to  bear  it  foremost  in  the  fight,  for  the  defence  of  their  native  land,  or  the  con- 
quest of  the  land  of  Palestine,  it  may  be  gratifying  to  produce  a  specimen  of 
the  earlier  mihtary  songs  of  that  gallant  country.  I  select  for  that  purpose  a 
very  striking  lyric  effusion  from  the  pen  of  old  ]Mar6t,  which  is  particularly 
deserving  of  attention,  from  its  marked  coincidence  in  thought  and  expression 


1 


1 66  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 


with  the  celebrated  Marseillaise  Hymn,  composed  at  the  distance  of  three 
centuries  ;  but  it  would  be  hard  to  say  which  produced  on  the  luoodefi-shoed 
men  of  France  the  greater  impression  m  its  day. 

AU  DUG    D'ALENXON, 

Comviandant  I'Az'aiit  Garde  de  I'Armee  Francaise,  1521. 

D'l  vers  Hainault,  sur  les  fins  de  champagne. 

Est  arrive  le  bon  Due  d'Alen<;on, 
Aveque  honneur  qui  toujours  I'accompagne 

Com  me  le  sien  propre  et  vrai  ecusson  : 
La  peut  on  veoir  t.ur  la  grande  plaine  unie 
Do  bons  soudars  son  enseigne  munie, 
Pres  d'employer  leurs  Iras  fulminatoire, 
A  repousser  dedans  leurs  territoire 

L'ours  Hanvier,  gent,  rustique,  et  brutalle, 
Voulant  marcher  san.s  raison  peremptoire 

Sur  les  climats  de  France  occidentale. 

Prenez  hault  coeur,  donques,  France  et  Bretagne  ! 

Car  si  en  ce  camp  tenez  fiere  fa<;on, 
Fondre  verrez  devant  vous  I'Allemagne, 

Comme  au  soleil  blanche  niege  et  gla?on  : 
Fiffres  !  tambours  !  sonnez  en  harmonie  ; 
Aventuriers  !  que  la  pique  on  manie 
Pour  les  choquer  et  mettre  en  accessoire, 
Car  deja  sont  au  royal  possessoire  : 

Mais  comme  je  crois  destinee  fatalle 
Veult  ruiner  leur  outrageuse  gloire 

Sur  les  climats  de  France  occidentale. 

Donques  pietons  marchans  sur  la  campagne, 

Foudroyez  tout  sans  rien  prendre  a  ran9on  ; 
Preux  chevaliers,  puisqu'honneur  on  y  gagne, 

Vos  ennemies  poussez  hors  de  I'artjon,    . 
Faites  rougir  du  sang  de  Germanie 
Les  clairs  ruisseaux  dont  la  terre  est  gamie  ; 
Si  seront  mis  vos  hauts  noms  en  histoire  : 
Frappez  done  tous  de  main  gladiatoire, 

Qu'apres  leur  mort  et  deflfaicte  totalle 
Vous  rapportiez  la  palme  de  victoire 

Sur  les  climats  de  France  occidentale. 

Prince  I  rempli  de  haut  los  m^ritoire, 
Faisons  les  tous,  si  vous  me  voulez  croire, 

Aller  humer  leur  cervoise  et  godalle  ; 
Car  de  nos  vins  ont  grand  desir  de  boire 

Sur  les  climats  de  France  occidentale. 

ADDRESS  TO  TPIE  VANGUARD  OF  THE  FRENCH 

Under  the  Duke  d'Alen^on,  1521. 

CLE.MENT    MAROT. 

Soldiers  !  at  length  their  gather'd  strength  our  might  is  doom'd  to  feel — 

Spain  and  Brabant  comilitant —  P-avaria  and  Castile. 

Idiots,  they  think  that  France  will  shrink  from  a  foe  that  rushes  on, 

And  terror  damp  the  gallant  camp  of  the  bold  Duke  d'Alen?on  i 

But  wail  and  woe  betide  the  foe  that  waits  for  our  assault  ! 

Back  to  his  lair  our  pikes  shall  scare  the  wild  boar  of  Hainault. 

La  Meiise  shall  flix)d  her  ban  .s  with  blood,  ere  the  sons  of  France  resign 

Their  glorious  fields — the  land  that  yields  the  olive  and  the  vine  ! 


The  Songs  of  France. 


i6y 


Then  draw  the  blade  !  be  our  ranks  array 'd  to  the  sound  of  the  martial  fife; 

In  tlie  foeman's  ear  let  the  trumpeter  blow  a  blast  of  deadly  strife  ; 

And  let  each  knight  collect  his  might,  as  if  there  hung  this  day 

The  fate  of  France  on  his  single  lance  in  the  hour  of  the  coming  fray : 

As  melts  the  snow  in  summer's  glow,  so  may  our  helmets'  glare 

Consume  their  host ;  so  folly's  boast  vanish  in  empty  air. 

Fools  !  to  believe  the  sword  could  give  to  the  children  of  the  Rhine 

Our  Gallic  fields — the  land  that  yields  the  olive  and  the  vine  ! 

Can  Germans  face  our  Norman  race  in  the  conflict's  awful  shock — 
Brave  the  war-cry  of  "  Brittanv  !  "  the  shout  of  "  Languedoc  !" 
Dare  they  confront  the  battle's  brunt — the  fell  encounter  try 
When  dread  Bayard  leads  on  his  guard  of  stout  gendarmerie  ?_ 
Strength  be  the  test — then  breast  to  breast,  ay,  grapple  man  with  man  ; 
Strength  in  the  ranks,  strength  on  both  flanks,  and  valour  in  the  van. 
Let  war  efface  each  softer  grace  ;  on  stern  Bellona's  shrine 
We  vow  to  shield  the  plains  that  yield  the  olive  and  the  vine  ! 

Methinks  I  see  bright  Victor^',  in  robes  of  glon,'  drest, 

Joj^ul  appear  on  the  French  frontier  to  the  chieftain  she  loves  best  ; 

While  grim  Defeat,  in  contrast  meet,  scowls  o'er  the  foeman's  tent, 

She  on  our  duke  smiles  down  with  look  of  blythe  encouragement. 

E'en  now,  I  ween,  our  foes  have  seen  their  hopes  of  conquest  fail  ; 

Glad  to  regain  their  homes  again,  and  quaff  their  Saxon  ale. 

So  may  it  be  while  chivalrj^  and  loyal  hearts  combine 

To  lift  a  brand  for  the  bonnie  land  of  the  olive  and  the  vine  ! 

And  now  let  us  give  truce  to  war,  and,  turning  to  calmer  sulijects,  smoke  for 
awhile  the  calumet  of  peace  with  a  poet  of  gentler  disposition.  Poor  Mille- 
voye  !  it  is  with  a  melancholy  pleasure  that  again  I  tur.i  to  thy  pure  and  \ 
pathetic  page;  but  thou  art  a  favourite  of  the  JNIuse,  and,  need  I  add,  of 
mine  ?  Who  can  peruse  this  simple  melody  without  feeling  deeply  interested 
in  the  fate  of  its  hero — a  fate  too  soon  thine  own  ! 


LA  CHUTE  DES  FEUILLES.        THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAVES. 


Par  JMillcz-oye. 

De  la  depouille  de  nos  bois 
L'automne  avait  jonche  la  terre, 
Le  bocage  etait  sans  mystere, 

Le  rossignol  etait  sans  voix. 

Triste  et  mourant  a  son  aurore, 
Un  jeune  malade,  a  pas  lents, 

Parcourait  une  fois  encore 

Le  bois  cher  a  ses  premiers  ans. 

"Bois  que  j'aime,  adieu  !  je  succombe- 

Ton  deuil  m'avertit  de  mon  sort ; 
Et  dans  chaque  feuille  qui  tombe 

Je  vois  un  presage  de  mort. 
Fatal  oracle  d"Epidaure, 

Tu  m'as  dit,    Les/euilles  dcs  bois 
A  tes  yeux  jaiiiiiro7it  encore, 

Mais  c  est  pour  la  derniere  fois  I ' 

L'eternel  cypres  se  balance  ; 
Deja  sur  ma  tete  en  silence 

II  incline  ses  rameaux  : 
Ma  jeunesse  sera  fletrie 
Avant  I'herbe  de  la  prairie, 

Avant  le  pampre  des  coteaux  ! 


By  MilleT>oye. 

Autumn  had  stript  the  grove,  and  strew'd 

The  vale  with  leafy  carpet  o'er — 
Shorn  of  its  mystery  the  wood, 

And  Philomel  bade  sing  no  more — 
Yet  one  still  hither  comes  to  feed 

His  gaze  on  childhood's  merry  path; 
For  him,  sick  youth  !  poor  invalid  ' 

Lonely  attraction  still  it  hath. 

"I  come  to  bid  you  farewell  brief, 

Here,  O  my  infancy's  wild  haunt ! 
For  death  gives  in  each  falling  leaf 

Sad  summons  to  your  visitant. 
'Twas  a  stern  oracle  that  told 

My  dark  decree,  'The  woodland hloOiK 
Once  more  'tis  given  tJice  to  behold, 

Thefi  comes  tli  inexorable  tonib!' 

Th'  eternal  cypress,  balancing 

Its  tall  form  like  some  funeral  thing 

In  silence  o'er  my  head, 
Tells  me  my  youth  shall  wither  fast. 
Ere  the  grass  fades— yea,  ere  the  last 

Stalk  from  the  vine  is  shed. 


1 68 


The  Works  of  Father  Pi'oiit. 


Et  ja  meurs  !  de  leur  froide  haleine 
M'ont  touch6  les  sombres  autans, 

Et  j'ai  vu  comme  une  ombre  vaine 
S'evanouir  mon  beau  printems. 

Tombe  !  tombe,  feuille  ^phem^re  ! 

Couvre,  helas  !  ce  triste  chemin  ! 
Cache  au  desespoir  de  ma  mSre 

La  place  ou  je  serai  demain  ! 

Mais  si  mon  amante  voilee 
Vient  dans  la  solitaire  allee, 

Pleurer  a  I'heure  ou  le  jour  fuit ; 

Eveille,  par  un  leger  bruit, 
Mon  ombre  un  instant  consolee  ! " 


II  dit.     S'eloigne  et  sans  retour  ; 

La  derniere  feuille  qui  tombe 
A  signale  son  dernier  jour  ; 

Sous  le  chene  on  creusa  sa  tombe. 
Mais  son  amante  ne  vint  pas  ; — 

Et  la  patre  de  la  vallee 
Troubla  seul  du  bruit  de  ses  pas 

Le  silence  du  mausolee. 


I  die  !  Yes,  with  his  icy  breath, 
Fix'd  Fate  has  frozen  up  my  blood  ; 

And  by  the  chilly  blast  of  Death 
Nipt  is  my  life's  spring  in  the  bud. 

Fall  !  fall,  O  transitory  leaf  ! 

And  cover  well  this  path  of  sorrow  ; 
Hide  from  my  mother's  searching  grief 

The  spot  where  I'll  be  laid  to-morrow. 

But  should  my  loved  one's  fairj'  tread 
Seek  the  sad  dwelling  of  the  dead. 

Silent,  alone,  at  eve  ; 
O  then  with  rustling  murmur  meet 
The  echo  of  her  coming  feet, 

And  sign  of  welcome  give  !  " 

Such  was  the  sick  youth's  last  sad  thought; 

Then  slowly  from  the  grove  he  moved  ; 
Next  moon  that  way  a  corpse  was  brought, 

And  buried  in  the  bower  he  loved. 
But  at  his  grave  no  form  appear  d. 

No  fairy  mourner  :  through  the  wood 
The  shepherd's  tread  alone  was  heard. 

In  the  sepulchral  solitude. 


Attuned  to  the  sad  harmony  of  that  closing  stanza,  and  set  to  the  same 
key-note  of  impassioned  sorrow,  are  the  following  lines  of  Chateaubriand, 
which  I  believe  have  never  appeared  in  print,  at  least  in  this  countrj'.  They 
were  composed  on  the  occasion  of  a  young  and  beautiful  girl's  premature 
death,  the  day  her  remains  were,  with  the  usual  ceremony  of  placing  a  wreath 
of  white  roses  on  the  bier,  consigned  to  the  earth. 


CHATEAUBRIAND. 


Sur  la  Fille  de  mon  A ;«/,  enierree  hier  dcz<a7ii  moi  au  Cimetiere  de  Passy, 

i6  yuin,  1832. 

II  descend  ce  cercueil  !  et  les  roses  sans  taches 

Qu'un  pfere  y  deposa,  tribut  de  sa  douleur  : 
Terre  !  tu  les  portas  !  et  maintenant  tu  caches 
Jeune  fille  et  jeune  fleur  ! 

Ah  !  ne  les  rends  jamais  a  ce  monde  prophane. 

A  ce  monde  de  deuil,  dangoisse,  et  de  malheur  ! 
Le  vent  brise  et  fletrit,  le  soleil  brxile  et  fane 
Jeune  fille  et  jeune  fleur  ! 

Tu  dors,  pauvTe  Elisa,  si  leg^re  d'annees  ! 

Tu  ne  crains  plus  du  jour  le  poids  et  la  chaleur ; 
Elles  ont  achev^  leurs  fraiches  matinees, 
Jeune  fille  et  jeune  fleur  ! 

Ere  that  cofTm  goes  down,  let  it  bear  on  its  lid 

The  garland  of  roses 
Which  the  hand  of  a  father,  her  mourners  amid, 
In  silence  deposes — 
'Tis  the  young  maiden's  funeral  hour  ! 
From  thy  bosom,  O  earth  !  sprung  that  young  budding  rose, 
And  'tis  meet  that  together  thy  lap  should  enclose 
The  young  maid  and  the  flower ! 


1 


The  Songs  of  France.  169 

Never,  never  give  back  the  two  symbols  so  pure 

Which  to  thee  we  confide  ; 
From  the  breath  of  this  world  and  its  plague-spot  secure. 
Let  them  sleep  side  by  side  — 
They  shall  know  not  its  pestilent  power  ! 
Soon  the  breath  of  contagion,  the  deadly  mildew, 
Or  the  fierce  scorching  sun,  might  parch  up  as  they  grew 
The  j'oung  maid  and  the  flower  ! 

Poor  Eliza  !  for  thee  life's  enjoyments  have  fled. 

But  its  pangs  too  are  flown  ! 
Then  go  sleep  in  the  grave  !  in  that  cold  bridal  bed 
ij  Death  may  call  thee  his  own — 

^  Take  this  handful  of  clay  for  thy  dower  ! 

Of  a  texture  wert  thou  far  too  gentle  to  last ; 
'Twas  a  morning  thy  life  !  now  the  matins  are  past 
For  the  maid  and  the  flower  ! 


IX. 

{Fraser's  Magazine,  Decembn-,  1834.) 


[The  December  number  of  Fraser,  containing  Front's  third  chapter  on  the  Songs  of 
France,  gave  to  view  as  its  fifty-fifth  Literary  Portrait  the  vera  effigies  of  that  curled 
darling  of  the  hour,  still  then  in  \\\s  jejtiicsse  dori-e,  Comte  Alfred  d'Orsay,  author  of  "A 
Journal."  It  delineated  him  as  an  "  exquisite,"  uhose  coimterfeit  presentment  was  in  its 
ever>'  minute  particular  the  verj'  pink  and  pattern  in  a  superlative  degree  of  the  then 
f.ishion — the  smalUwaisted,  broad-collared  coat  thrown  wide  open,  the  delicately-tasselled 
cane,  the  high  cravat  descending  in  a  cataract  of  satin  over  the  bosom,  the  ambrosial 
whiskers  meeting  under  the  Cupidon  chin,  the  speckless  shirt  cuffs  daintily  turned  back 
at  the  wrists  over  the  coat  sleeves.  In  startling  contrast  to  this  superb  limning  of  what 
was  instantaneously  recognizable,  then,  both  cnlhe  boulevards  and  in  Bond  Street,  as  a  per- 
fect gentleman,  was  Maclise's  embellishment,  two  years  afterwards,  of  I'Abbe  de  Front's 
Gallic  rendering,  a  la  vielle  d'etre pendii,  of  Dean  Burrowes'  terrible  death-lyric  "The 
Night  before  Larry  was  Stretched."] 


CHAPTER   III.— Philosophy. 


"  Quando  Gallus  cantat,  Petrus  ^tt."—Sixtits  V.  Pont.  Max. 

"  5?  ^^  "°^  ^'^^^  '^  ^"^'^  altiere  "  If  old  St.  Peter  on  his  rock 

I'roubla  I'he'ritier  de  St.  Pierre,  Wept  when  he  heard  the  Gallic  cock, 

Grace  aux  annates  aujourd'hui,  Has  not  the  good  French  hen  (God  bless 

Nos  poules  vont  pondre  pour  lui. "  her  !) 

Ber.anger.  Laid  many  an  egg  for  his  successor?" 

Pkoit. 

Befoiie  we  plunge  with  Prout  into  the  depths  of  French  Pliilosophy,  we  must 
pluck  a  crow  with  the  Sun.  Not  often  does  it  occur  to  us  to  notice  a  news- 
paper criticism ;  nor,  indeed,  in  this  case,  siiould  we  condescend  to  wax  angry 
at  the  discharge  of  the  penny-a-liner's  popgun,  were  it  not  that  an  imputation 
has  been  cast  on  the  good  father's  memory,  which  cannot  be  overlooked,  and 
must  be  wiped  away.  The  caitiff  who  writes  in  the  Sun  has,  at  the  msti- 
gation  of  Satan,  thrown  out  a  hint  that  these  songs,  and  specifically  his  bril- 
liant translation  of  "  Malbrouck,"  were  written  "under  vinous  inspiration!" 
A  false  and  atrocious  libel  this,  and,  to  use  the  language  of  Tom  Duncombe, 
an  instance  of  the  unparalleled  audacity  of  tlie  press.  Great  mental  powers  and 
superior  cleverness  are  too  often  supposed  to  derive  assistance  from  the  bottle. 
Thus  the  virtue  of  the  elder  Cato  (prisci  Catonis)  is  most  unjustifiably  ascribed 


The  Songs  of  France, 


171 


to  potations  by  unreflecting  Horace ;  and  a  profane  French  sophist  has  attri- 
buted Noah's  escape  from  the  Flood  to  his  partiahty  for  the  vine  : 


"  Noe  le  patriarche, 
Si  celebre  par  I'arche, 

Aima  fort  le  jus  du  tonneau  ; 
Puisqu'il  planta  la  vigne, 
Convenez  qii'etait  digne 

De  ne  point  se  noyer  dans  I'eau  ! " 


"  To'have  drown'd  an  old  chap, 
Such  a  friend  to  '  the  tap,' 

The  flood  would  have  felt  compunction  ; 
Noah  owed  his  escape 
To  his  love  for  the  grape  ; 

And  his  '  ark '  was  an  empty  puncheon.' 


The  illustrious  Queen  Anne,  who,  hke  our  own  Regixa,  encouraged  literature 
and  patronized  wit,  v.as  thus  calumniated  after  death,  when  her  sratue  was  put 
up  where  it  now  stands,  with  its  back  to  Paul's  church  and  its  face  turned 
towards  that  celebrated  corner  of  the  churchyard  which  in  those  days  was  a 
brandy-shop.  Xay,  was  not  our  late  dignified  Lord  Chancellor  equally  lam- 
pooned, without  the  slightest  colour  of  a  pretext,  excepting,  perhaps,  "because 
his  nose  is  red,"  and  p.lso  because,  instead  of  writing  as  formerly  in  the  "bloody 
old  Times,"  he  had  chosen  to  scribble  latterly  in  the  Blue  and  Yellow.  Good 
reason  has  he  lo  ctirse  his  evil  genitis,  and  to  exclaim  with  Ovid — 

_"  Ingenio  perii  Naso  poeta  meo  !  " 

But  to  return  to  Prout.  We  were  prepared,  by  our  previous  experience  and  our 
knowledge  of  history,  for  this  outbreak  of  calumny  in  his  case ;  and  we  knew, 
by  a  reference  to  the  bio.e;raphy  of  Christopher  Columbus,  of  Gahleo,  and  of 
Dr.  Faustus  (the  great  inventor  of  the  art  -of  printing),  that  his  intellectual 
superiority  would  raise  up  a  host  of  adversaries  prepared  to  malign  him,  nay, 
if  necessary,  to  accuse  him  of  witchcraft.  Ihe  writer  in  the  Siot  has  not 
yet  gone  quite  so  far,  contenting  himself  for  the  present  with  the  assertion, 
that  the  father  penned  "  these  Songs  of  France"  to  the  sound  of  a  gurgling 
flagon. 

"  Aux  doux  gloux  gloiLX  que  fait  la  bouteille." 

The  idea  is  not  a  new  one.  When  Demosthenes  shaved  his  head,  and  spent 
the  winter  in  a  cellar  transcribing  the  works  of  Thucydides,  'twas  said  of  him, 
on  his  emerging  into  the  light  of  the  /Stj^h,  that  "  his  speeches  smelt  of  oil." 
It  was  stated  of  that  locomotive  knight,  Sir  Richard  Biackmore,  whose  epic 
poem  on  King  Arthur  is  now  (like  Bob  Montgomery's  "Omnipresence") 
nowhere  to  be  found,  that  he 

"  Wrote  to  the  rumbling  of  his  coach-wheels." 

In  allusion  to  B)Ton's  lameness,  it  was  hinted  by  some  Zoilus  that  he  penned 
not  a  few  of  his  verses  stans pede  in  utio.  Even  a  man's  genealogy  is  not  safe 
from  innuendo  and  inference ;  for  Sam  Rogers  having  discovered,  from 
Beranger's  song,  "  Le  Tailleur  et  la  Fee,"  that  his  father  was  a  tailor,  pro- 
nounced his  parentage  and  early  impressions  to  be  the  cause  why  he'was  such 
a  capital  hand  at  a  hem-a-stich.  If  a  similar  analogy  can  hold  good  in  Tom 
Moore's  case,  it  will  no  doubt  become  obvious  why  his  compositions  are  so 
"highly  spiced,"  his  taste  so  "  liquorish,"  and  his  muse  so  prodigal  of  "sugar- 
candy." 

But  is  it  come  to  this?  must  we  needs,  at  this  time  of  day,  vindicate  the  holy 
man's  character?  and  are  we  driven  to  take  up  the  cudgels  for  his  sobriety? — 
he,  whose  frugal  life  was  proverbial,  and  whose  zeal,  backed  ty  personal 
exainplc,  was  all-powerful  to  win  his  parishioners  from  the  seduction  of  barley- 
corn, and  reduce  them  to  a  habit  of  temperance,  ad  bonatn  frugeni  rediicerc  ! 
He,  of  whom  it  might  be  predicated,  that  while  a  good  conscience  Was  the 
juge  convivium  of  his  mind,  his  corporeal  banquet  was  a  perpetual  red-herring ! 


IVafer-cresses,  so  abundant  on  that  bleak  hill,  were  his  only  luxury  ;  for  he 
belonged  to  that  class  of  Pythagorean  philosophers  of  whom  Virgil  sneaks,  in 
his  description  of  the  plague  : 

"  Non  illis  epulae  nocuere  repostse  : 
Frondibus  et  victu  pascuntur  simplicis  herbse." 

Georg.  III. 

Cicero  tells  us,  in  his  Tusculan  Questions  (what  he  might  have  read  in  Xeno- 
phon),  that  water-cresses  were  a  favourite  diet  in  Persia.  His  words  are  : 
"  Persas  nihil  ad  panem  adhibebant  praeter  nasturtium."  (Tusc.  Qurest.  v. 
140.)  I  only  make  this  remark  eii  passant,  as,  in  comparing  Ireland  with 
what  Tommy  calls 

"  that  delightful  province  of  the  sun, 
The  land  his  orient  beam  first  shines  upon," 

it  would  seem  that  "round  towers"  zxidi  rvater-cresses  are  distinctive  charac- 
teristics of  both  countries;  a  matter  somewhat  singular,  since  the  taste  for 
water-grass  is  by  no  means  generally  diffused  among  European  nations.  Pliny, 
indeed  (lib.  xix.  cap.  8),  goes  so  far  as  to  state  that  this  herb  creates  an  un- 
pleasant titillation  in  the  nose  :  "  Nasturtium  nomen  accepit  a  nariimi  tor- 
mento."  But  Spenser  says  of  the  native  Irish,  that,  "wherever  they  found  a 
plot  of  shamrocks  or  water-cresses,  there  they  flocked  as  to  a  feast." — State  of 
Ireland,  A.D.  1580. 

When  we  assert  that  Prout  was  thus  a  model  of  abstemiousness,  we  by  no 
means  intend  to  convey  the  notion  that  he  was  inhospitable.  Is  not'  his 
Carousal  on  record  in  the  pages  of  Regixa.'  and  will  it  not  be  remembered 
when  the  feast  of  O'Rourke  is  forgotten  ?  If  a  friend  chanced  to  drop  into  his 
hut  on  a  frosty  night,  he  felt  no  more  scruple  in  cracking  with  his  guest  a  few 
bottles  of  Medoc  than  George  Knapp,  the  redoubtable  Mayor  of  Cork,  in 
demolishing,  with  his  municipal  club,  a  mad-dog's  pericranium.  Nor  were  his 
brother-clergy  in  that  diocese  less  rernarkable  for  well-ordered  conviviality. 
Horace,  in  his  trip  to  Brundusium,  says,  that  parish-priests  are  only  bound  (on 
account  of  their  poverty)  to  supply  a  stranger  with  a  fireside  of  bog-wood,  and 
potatoes  and  salt — 

"Suppeditant  parochi  quod  debent  ligna  sale7nqne  :  " 

whereas  he  foolishly  imagines  that  nothing  can  surpass  a  bishop's  hospi- 
tality— 

"  Pontificum  potiore  coenis. " 

Were  the  poet  now-a-days  Ca.d.  1830)  to  make  a  trip  to  Cork,  he  would  find 
matters  managed  vice  versa,  and  the  advice  of  Paul  to  Bishop  Timothy  (ch.  iii.) 
forsrotten. 

From  all  we  have  said  on  this  subject,  and  still  more  from  what  wc  could  add, 
if  inchned  to  be  wrathful,  Prout's  calumniators  may  learn  a  lesson  of  forbear- 
ance and  decorum.  His  paths  are  the  paths  of  pleasantness  and  peace  ;  but 
let  all  beware  of  crossing  him  in  his  walk  of  literature,  or  molesting  him  in  his 
rambles  through  the  bye-ways  of  Parnassus.  We  are  determined  to  protect 
him  from  assault— both  able  and  ready  to  fling  down  the  gauntlet  in  his  defence. 
far  be  it  from  us  to  throw  an  apple  of  discord ;  but  Prout  is  the  apple  of  our 
eye.  Let  the  man  in  "the  Sun"  read  how  Daniel  O'Rourke  fell  from  "the 
moon  ;  "  or  rather  let  him  recollect  the  Dutch  ambassador's  remark  when  the 
grand  monarque  showed  him  his  own  royal  face  painted  in  the  disc  of  an 
emblematic   "Sol  :"  "  Je  vois  avcc  plaisir  votrc  majcstd  dans  le  plus  erand 

OLIVER    VORKE. 
Dec.  1st,  1834. 


The  Songs  of  France.  173 


Watergrasshill,  Dec.  1S34. 
The  historian  of  Charles  V.,  in  that  ver\'  remarkable  chapter  of  his  immortal 
work  wherein  he  discourseth  of  the  children  of  Loyola,  in  reference  to  which 
there  is  a  paper  in  my  chest  [already  published,  O.  Y.l,  takes  the  opportunity 
of  manifesting  his  astonishment  that  so  learned  a  body  of  men  should  never 
have  produced,  among  crowds  of  poets,  critics,  divines,  metaphysicians,  orators, 
and  astronomers,  "one  single  philosopher !"  By  the  ghost  of  Confucius!  O 
Robertson  !  thou  hast  in  that  ilk  made  a  most  rare  discovery  !  nor  dors  it  in 
the  least  disparage  the  value  of  thy  mare's-nest  that  the  ^gg  is  a  bit  paradoxical. 
But  I  must,  however,  premise  by  duly  recording  that  this  sagacious  observation, 
this  ingenious  maggot,  was  first  generated  in  the  prolific  brain  of  the  notorious 
D'Alembert,  himself  an  undeniable  "philosopher."  Everyone,  I  imagine, 
knows  what  guess-sort  of  wiseacre  France  gave  birth  to  in  the  person  of  that 
algebraic  gentleman.  I  say  France  in  general,  using  advisedly  the  rjholesale 
term,  as  none  ever  knew  who  his  parents  were  in  detail,  he,  like  myself,  having 
graduated  in  a  foundling  hospital.  By  the  bye,  it  is  a  remarkable  circumstance, 
which  I  shall  record  for  D' Israeli  ("  il  curioso"),  that  in  the  nob'e  seminary  dcs 
Enfans  Troiives  (that  grand  metropolitan  magazine  for  anonymous  contribu- 
tions), where  he  became  learned  in  all  the  science  of  the  Egyptians,  the  future 
geometer  was  only  known  by  the  name  of  "Jaques  le  Rond,"  which  he  ex- 
changed in  after-hfe  for  the  more  sonorous  title  of  D'Aleiubert :  not  rendering 
himself  thereby  a  whit  more  capable  of  finding  the  quadrature  of  the  circle. 
To  be  sure,  in  the  fancy  for  a  high-sounding  name  he  only  imitated  his  illus- 
trious fellow-labourer  in  the  vineyard,  Francois  Arouet,  wliOm  mortals  have 
learnt  to  call  "  Voltaire  "  by  his  own  particular  desire.  Now  Kobertson,  of  the 
Kirk  of  Scotland,  ought  to  have  known,  when  he  adopted,  second-hand,  this 
absurdity,  that  by  the  term  philosopher  the  French  infidel  meant  anything  but 
a  V.  ell-regulated  sound  and  sagacious  mind,  reposing  in  calm  grandeur  on  the 
rock  of  Revelation,  and  looking  on  with  scornful  pity,  while  modern  .=;ophists 
go  through  all  the  drunken  capers  of  emancipated  scepticism.  Does  the  his- 
torian, grave  and  thoughtful  as  he  is,  mean  to  countenance  such  vagaries  of 
human  rejison  ?  or  does  he  deem  the  wild  mazes  of  the  philosophic  dance,  in 
which  Hobbes,  Spinoza,  Bolingbroke.  David  Hume,  and  Monboddo  join 
with  Diderot,  Helvetius,  and  the  D'Holbac  revellers,  worthy  of  applause  and 
imitation  ? 

"  Saltantes  satjTos  imitabitur  Alphesibceus  ?  " 

If  such  be  the  blissful  vision  of  his  philosophy,  then,  indeed,  may  we  exclaim, 
with  the  poet  of  Eton  College,  " 'Tis  folly  to  be  wise  !"  But  if  to  possess  an 
unrivalled  knowledge  of  human  nature — if  to  ken  with  intuitive  glance  a'.l  the 
secrets  of  men's  hearts — if  to  control  the  passions — if  to  gain  ascendency  by 
sheer  intellect  over  mankind — if  to  civilize  the  savage — if  to  furnish  zealous 
and  intelligent  missionaries  to  the  Indian  and  American  hemisphere,  as  well  as 
professors  to  the  Universities  of  Europe,  and  "confessors"  to  the  court  of 
kings — be  characteristics  of  genuine  philosophy  and  mental  greatness,  allow 
me  to  put  in  a  claim  for  the  Society  that  is  no  more ;  the  downfall  of  which 
was  the  signal  for  every  evil  bird  of  bad  omen  to  flit  abroad  and  pollute  the 
world — 

"Obscoenique  canes,  importunstque  volucres." 

And  still,  though  it  may  sound  strange  to  modem  democrats,  the  first  treatise 
on  the  grand  dogma  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  was  written  and  pub- 
lished in  Spain  by  a  Jesuit.  It  was  Father  Mariana  who  first,  in  his  book  "  De 
Instiiutione  Regis,"  taught  the  doctrine,  that  kings  are  but  trustees  for  the 
benefit  of  the  ration,  freely  developing  what  was  timidly  hinted  at  by  Thomas 
Aqtiinas.      Bayle,    whom   the  professor  will   admit   to  the  full  honours  of  a 


174  ^^'^  Woj-ks  of  FatJicr  Front. 

philosophic  chair  of  pestilence,*  acknowledges,  in  sundry  passages,  the  superior 
sagacity  of  those  pious  men,  under  whom,  by  the  way,  he  himself  studied  at 
Toulouse;  and  if,  by  accumulating  doubts  and  darkness  on  the  truths  of 
Christianity,  he  has  merited  to  be  called  the  cloud-compelling  Jupiter  among 
philosophers,  vKptynyiniTa  Zsus,  surely  some  particle  oi  philosophic  praise, 
equivocal  as  it  is,  might  be  resened  for  those  able  masters  who  stimulated  his 
early  inquiries — excited  and  fed  his  young  appetite  for  erudition.  But  they 
sent  fonh  from  their  schools,  in  Descartes,  in  Torricelli,  and  in  Bossuet,  much 
sounder  specimens  of  reasoning  and  wisdom. 

I  hesitate  not  to  aver,  as  a  general  proposition,  that  the  French  character  is 
essentially  unphilosophical.  Of  the  Greeks  it  has  been  said,  what  I  would 
ratlier  apply  to  our  mern.-  neighbours,  that  they  were  "  a  nation  of  children," 
possessing  all  the  frolicsome  wildness,  all  the  playful  attractiveness  of  that 
pleasant  epoch  in  life,  but  deficient  in  the  graver  faculties  of  dispassionate 
reflection  :  'EWjji/js  aisiTraicfs,  yspojv  ce'EWjjv  ouceis. — (Plato,  "Timarus.") 
In  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV..  Pere  Bouhours  gravely  discusses,  in  his  "  CoiU3 
de  Belles  Lettres,"  the  question,  "whether  a  native  of  Gerifiaiiy  caja  possess 
wit?  "  The  phlegmatic  duellers  en  the  Danube  might  retort  by  prop>osing  as 
a  problem  to  the  University  of  GiJttingen.  "An  datur  philosophus  inter 
Galios?"  Certain  it  is,  and  I  know  them  well,  that  the  calibre  of  their  mind 
is  better  adapted  to  receive  and  discharge  "small  shot"  than  "heavy  metal." 
That  they  are  more  calculated  to  shine  in  the  imaginative,  the  ornamental,  the 
refined  and  delicate  departments  of  literature,  than  in  the  sober,  sedate,  and 
profound  pursuits. of  philosophy;  and  it  is  not  without  reason  that  historj'  tells 
oi  rheir  ancestors,  when  on  the  point  of  taking  the  capitol,  that  they  were 
foiled  and  discomfited  by  the  solemn  steadiness  of  a  goose. 

Cicero  had  a  great  contempt  for  the  guidance  of  Greek  philosophers  in 
matters  appertaining  to  rehgion,  thinking,  with  reason,  that  there  was  in  the 
Roman  gravity  a  more  fitting  disposition  of  mind  for  such  important  inquiries : 
" Ciim  dereUgione agitur.Titum  Coruncanium  aut  Publium  Sc^volam,  potitinccs 
maximos,  non  Zenonem,  aut  Cleantlium,  aut  Chrysippura  sequor."  iDe 
Aatura  Deor.)  The  terms  of  insulting  depreciation,  Graculus  and  GrcEcia 
viaidax,  are  famihar  to  the  readers  of  the  Latin  classics  ;  and  from  Aristo-  • 
phanes  we  can  learn,  thaty>-f>^j,  a  talkative,  saltatory,  and  unsubstanti  .1  noim 
of  multitude,  was  then  applied  to  Greeks,  as  now-a  days  to  Frenchmen.  But 
of  this  more  anon,  when  I  come  to  treat  of  "  frogs  and  free-trade."  I  am  now 
on  the  chapter  of  philosophy. 

\'ague  generaiities,  and  sweeping  assertions  relative  to  national  character, 
are  too  much  the  fashion  with  writers  of  the  Puckler  Muskaw  and  Lady 
Morgan  school :  wherefore  I  .select  at  once  an  individual  illustration  of  my 
theory  concerning  the  French  ;  and  I  hope  I  shall  not  V>e  accused  of  dealing 
unfairly  towards  them  when  I  put  forward  as  a  sample  the  Comte  de  Ruffon. 
Of  all  the  eloquent  prose  writers  of  France,  none  has  surpassed  in  graceful  and 
liarmonious  diction  the  great  naturalist  of  Burgundy.  His  work  combines  two 
qualities  rarely  found  in  conjunction  on  the  same  happy  page,  viz.  accurate 
technical  information  and  polished  elegance  of  style  :  but  w  hen  he  goes  beyond 
his  depth — when,  tired  of  e.vquisite  delineations  and  graphic  depicturings,  he 
forsakes  the  "swan,"  the  "Arabian  horse,"  the  "beaver,  *  and  the  "ostrich," 
for  "  Sanconiathon,  Berosus,  and  the  cosmogony  of  the  world,"  what  a  melan- 
choly exhibition  does  he  make  of  ingenious  dotage  !  Having  predetermined 
not  to"leave  Moses  a  leg  to  stand  on,  he  sweeps  away  at  one  stroke  of  his  pen 
the  foundations  of  Genesis,  and  reconstructs  this  terraqueous  planet  on  a  new- 
patent  principle.     I  have  been  at  some  pains  to  acquire  a  comprehensive  notion 

•  '''Cathedrn pestiUiitiir"  is  the  Vulzatc  transJatirn  of  what  the  authorized  Church- 
version  calls  the  "  seat  of  the  scornful,    Psalm  i.  i.  — O.  V. 


TJie  Sciigs  of  France.  175 


of  his  system,  and,  aided  by  an  old  Jesuit,  I  have  succeeded  in  condensing 
the  voluminous  dissertation  into  a  few  hnes,  for  the  use  of  those  who  are  dis- 
satisfied with  the  Mosaic  statement,  particularly  the  professors  at  the  school  in 
Gower  Street ; — 

1.  In  the  beginning  was  the  sun,  from  which  a  splinter  was  shot  off  by 
chance,  and  that  fragment  was  our  globe. 

2.  And  the  globe  had  for  its  nucleus  melted  glass,  with  an  envelope  of  hot 
water. 

3.  And  it  began  to  twirl  round,  and  became  somewhat  flattened  at  the 
poles. 

4.  Xow,  when  the  water  grew  cool,  insects  began  to  appear,  and  shell- 
fish. 

5.  And  from  the  accumulation  of  shells,  particularly  oysters  (tom  i.  4to. 
edit.  p.  14),  the  earth  was  gradually  formed,  with  ridges  of  mountains,  on  the 
principle  of  the  Monte  Testacio  at  the  gate  of  Rome. 

6.  But  the  melted  glass  kept  warm  for  a  long  time,  and  the  arctic  climate 
was  as  hot  in  those  days  as  the  tropics  now  are  :  witness  a  frozen  rhinoceros 
found  in  Siberia,  <S:c.  &c.  «S:c. 

To  all  which  discoveries  no  one  will  be  so  iUiberal  as  to  refuse  the  ap- 
propriate acclamation  of  "  Very  fine  oysters  !  " 

As  I  have  thus  furnished  the  Society  for  the  Difiusion  of  Useful  Knowledge 
with  a  compendious  substitute  for  the  obsolete  book  of  Genesis,  I  think  it 
right  also  to  supply  the  Chaldeans  of  Gower  Street  with  a  few  notions  on 
astronomy ;  wherefore  1  subjoin  a  French  song  on  one  of  the  most  interesting 
plienomena  of  the  solar  system,  in  which  eftusion  of  some  anonymous  poet 
there  is  about  as  much  wisdom  as  in  Buffon's  cosmogony. 

LA  THEORIE  DES  ECLIPSES.  OX    SOLAR   ECLIPSES. 

(a  new  theory.) 

{Jupiter  loquitur.')  For  the  use  of  the  London  University. 

Je  jure  le  Styx  qui  tournoie  All  heaven,  I  swear  by  Stjoc  that  rolls 

Dans  le  pays  de  Tartara,  Its  dark  flood  round  the  land  of  souls  ! 

Qu  a  "  Colin-maillard  "  on  jouera  Shall   play  this  day  at   "Blind   man's 

Or  sus !  tirez  au  sort,  qu'on  vole  bulT."  , 

Lequel  d'entre  vous  le  sera.  Come,  make  arrangements  on  the  spot ; 

Prepare  the  'kerchief,  draw  the  lot — 
So  Jove  commands  I     Enough  ! 

Le  bon  Solei!  Favait  bien  dit—  Lot  fell  on  Sol  :  the  stars  were  struck 

Le  '^ort  lui  echut  en  partage  .  At  such  an  instance  of  ill-luck. 

Chacun  rit  ;  et  suivant  lusage.  Then  Luna  for^vard  came 

Au-^sitot  la  Lune  s'offrit  And  bound  with  gentle,  modest  hand, 

Pour  lui  voiler  son  beau  visage.  O'er  his  bright  brow  the  muslin  band  : 

Hence  mortals  learn  d  the  game. 

It  would  be  scandalous  indeed  if  the  palm  of  absurdity,  the  bronze  medal  of 
impudence  in  philosophic  discoverv,  were  to  be  awarded  to  Buffon,  when  \  ol- 
laire  stands  a  candidate  in  the  same  field  of  speculation.  This  great  man,  dis- 
coursing on  a  similar  subject,  in  his  profound  "  Questions  Encyclopediques, 
labours  to  remove  the  vulgar  presumption  in  favour  of  a  general  deluge,  derived 
from  certain  marine  remains  and  conchylia  found  on  the  Alps  and  Pyrenees. 
He  does  not  hesitate  to  trace  these  shells  to  the  frequency  of  pilgrims  returning 
with  scollops  on  their  hats  from  St.  Jago  di  Compostello  across  the  mottntains. 
Here  are  his  words,  q.  c.  (art.  Coquil.)  :  "  Si  nous  faisons  reflexion  a  la  fou.e 


innombrable  de  pelerins  qui  partent  a  pied  de  St.  Jaques  en  Galice,  et  de 
toutes  les  provinces,  pour  aller  a.  Rome  par  le  Mont  Cenis,  charges  decocjuilles 
aleurs  bonnets,"  Sec.  Sec. — a  deep  and  original  explanation  of  a  very  puzzling 
geological  problem,  and  a  solution  of  the  difficulty  which  would  elicit  from  an 
Italian  the  acknowledgment, 

"  Se  non  fe  vero,  b  ben  trovato." 

But  let  the  patriarch  of  Femey  hide  his  diminished  head  before  a  late  French 
philosophic  writer,  citoyen  Dupuis,  author  of  that  sublime  work,  "  De  I'Origine 
des  Cultes."  This  profound  performance  is  a  manual  of  modern  deism,  and 
desen-edly  has  been  commemorated  by  a  poet  from  Gascony  ;  who  concludes 
his  complimentar\'-  stanzas  to  the  author  by  telling  him  that  he  has  at  last  drawn 
up  Truth  from  the  bottom  of  the  well  to  which  the  ancients  had  consigned 
her  : 

Vous  avez  bien  merite  Truth  in  a  well  was  said  to  dwell, 

De  la  patrie.  Sire  Dupuis  :  From  whence  no  art  could  pluck  it ; 

Vous  avez  tire  la  verite  But  now  'tis  known,  raised  by  the  loan 

Du  puits  !  Of  thy  philosophic  bucket. 

Now,  it  may  not  be  uninteresting,  as  assuredly  it  will  be  edifying,  for  the 
British  public  to  learn  that  citoyen  Dupuis  has  imngined  a  simple  method  of 
explaining  the  rise  and  origin  of  Christianity,  which  (setting  aside  all  the  rubbish 
of  history)  he  clearly  shows  to  have  been  nothing  at  its  commencement  but  an 
"astronomical  allegory:"  Christ  standing  for  the  Sun,  the  twelve  apostles 
representing  the  twelve  signs  of  the  Zodiac,  Peter  standing  for  "Aquarius," 
and  Didymus  for  one  of  "  the  twins,"  &c.  ;  just  with  as  much  ease  as  a  future 
historian  of  these  countries  may  convert  our  grand  Whig  cabinet  into  an  alle- 
gorical fable,  putting  Lord  Althorp  for  the  sign  of  Taurus,  Palmerston  for  the 
Goat,  ElUce  for  Ursa.  Major,  and  finding  in  Stanley  an  undeniable  emblem  of 
Scorpio. 

Volney,  in  his  "  Ruines,"  seems  to  emulate  the  bold  theories  of  Dupuis;  and 
the  concltision  at  which  all  arrive,  by  the  devious  and  labyrinthine  paths  they 
severally  tread, — whether,  with  Lamettrie,  they  adopt  plain  materialism;  or, 
with  Condillac,  hint  at  the  possibihty  of  matter  being  capable  of  thought :  or, 
with  Diderot,  find  no  difference  between  man  and  a  dog  but  the  clothes  ("  Vie 
de  Seneque  ") — is,  emancipation  from  all  moral  tie,  and  contempt  for  all  exist- 
ing institutions.  Their  disciples  fill  the  galleys  in  France,  and  cause  our  ov,  :i 
Botany  Bay  to  present  all  the  agreeable  varieties  of  a  philosophical  hortu^ 
siccus.  But  Ireland  has  produced  a  specimen  of  consummate  proficiency  in 
the  grand  fundamental  maxims  of  utilitarianism  and  philosophy,  exemplified 
in  the  calm  composure,  dignified  tranquillity,  and  instrtictive  self-possession, 
with  which  death  may  be  encountered  after  a  life  of  usefulness.  F'or  the  bene- 
fit and  comfort  of  our  allies  the  French,  I  have  taken  some  pains  to  initiate 
them,  through  the  medium  of  a  translation,  into  the  workings  of  an  Irish  mind 
unfettered  by  conscientious  scruples  on  the  threshold  of  eternity. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES.  LA  MORT  DE  SOCRATE. 

By  tJic  Re-j.  Robt.  Btirro7ves,  Dean  o/St.  Par  l' Abbe  de  Front,  Cure  du Moni-aux- 

Finbar's  CatJiedral,  Cork.  Cressons,  pres  de  Cork. 

The  night  before  Larr>'  was  stretch'd,  A  la  veille  d'etre  pendu. 

The  boys  they  all  paid  him  a  visit  ;  Notr'Laurent  re?ut  dans  son  gtte, 

A  bit  in  their  sacks,  too,  they  fetch'd —  Honneur  qui  lui  etait  bien  dfl, 

They  sweated  their  duds  till  they  riz  it ;  De  nombreux  amis  la  visite  ; 


For  Larrj'  was  always  the  lad, 
When   a  friend  was   condemn'd  to  the 
squeezer, 
Eiit  he  d  pawn  all  the  togs  that  he  had, 
Just  to  help  the  poor  boy  to  a  sneezer. 
And  moisten  his  gob  'fore  he  died. 

"  'Pon  my  conscience,  dear  Larry,"  says  I, 

"  I'm  Surry  to  see  you  in  trouble. 
And  3'our  life's  cheerful  noggin  run  dry. 

And  yourself  ^oin.j  off  lih.e  its  bubble  ! " 
"  lioL'.ld  your  tongue  in  that  matter,"  says 
he  : 
"For  the  neckcloth  I  don't  care  a  but- 
ton, 
A/id  by  this  time  to-morrow  you'll  see 
Your  Larry  will  be  dead  as  mutton  : 
All  for  what  ?  'kase  his  courage  was 
good  : " 

T!i'-  boy=;  they  came  crowdm^  in  fast ; 

I'hevdrew  th^ir  stools  clubJ  r^und  about 
him, 
5i.\-  glims  round  his  coiTm  they  placed — 

He  couldn't  be  well  waked  \v;.Mout  'em. 
I  ax  a  if  he  was  fit  to  die, 

Without  having  dulj'  repented  ? 
Says  Larry,  "  That's  all  in  my  eye, 

And  all  by  the  clargy  invented, 
To  make  a  fat  bit  for  themselves." 

Then    the    cards  being    call'd    for,    they 
play'd, 
Till  Larry  found  one  of  them  cheated  ; 
Quick  he  made  a  hard  rap  at  his  head — 

The  lad  being  easily  heated. 
"  So  ye  chales  me  bekase  Lm  in  grief  ! 
O  !  is  that,  by  the  Holy,  the  rason  ? 
Soon  Fll  give  you  to  know,  you  d — d  thief! 
That  you're  cracking  your  jokes  out  of 
sason, 
And  scuttle  your  nob  with  my  fist." 

Then  in  came  the  priest  with  his  book. 

He  spoke  him  so  smooth  and  so  civil ; 
Larrj'  tippd  him  a  Kilmainham  look. 
And  pitch'd  his  big  wig  to  the  divil. 
Then  raising  a  little  his  head, 

To  get  a  sweet  drop  of  the  bottle. 
And  pitiful  sighing  he  said, 

"  O  I  the  hemp  will  be  soon  round  my 
throttle. 
And    choke     my    poor    windpipe    to 
death  1 " 

So  mournful  these  last  words  he  spoke, 

We  all  vented  our  tears  in  a  shower  ; 

For  my  part,  I  thought  my  heart  broke 

To  see  him  cut  down  like  a  flower  ! 
On  his  travels  we  watch "d  him  next  day, 
O,  the  hangman  I  thought   I  could  kill 
him  ! 
Not  one  word  did  our  poor  LaiTy  say. 
Nor    changed    till  he  came   to    "King 
William  ;  " 
Och,  my  dear  !  then  his  colour  turn'd 
white. 


Car  chacun  scavait  que  Laurent 
A  son  tour  rendrait  la  pareille, 

Chapeau  montre,  et  veste  engageant. 
Pour  que  I'ami  put  boire  bouteille, 
Ni  faire,  a  gosier  sec,  le  saut. 

"  Helas,  notre  gar?on  !  "  lui  dis-je, 

"  Combien  je  regrette  ton  sort ! 
Te  voila  fleur,  que  sur  sa  tige 

]\Ioissonne  la  cruelle  mort  !"  — 
"  Au  diable,"  dit-il,  "  le  roi  George  ! 

Ca  me  fait  la  valeur  d'un  bouton  ; 
Devant  le  boucher  qui  m'egorge, 

Je  serai  comme  un  doux  mouton. 
Et  saurai  montrer  du  courage  ! " 


Des  amis  deja  la  cohorte 

Remplissait  son  etroit  reduit; 
Six  chandelles,  ho  !  qu'on  apporte, 

Donnons  du  lustre  a  cette  nuit ! 
Alors  je  cherchai  a  connaitre 

S'il  s'etait  diiment  repenti  ? 
"  Bah  !  c'est  les  fourberies  des  pretres  ; 

Les  gredins,  ils  en  ont  menti, 

Et  leurs  contes  d'enfer  sont  faux  ! " 

L'on  demande  les  cartes.     Au  jeu 
Laurent  voit  un  larron  qui  triche ; 

D'honneur  tout  rempli,  il  prend  feu, 
Et  d'un  bon  coup  ue  poign  I'affiche. 
Ha,  coquin  !  de  mon  dernier  jour 
Tu  croyais  profiter,  peut-etre  ; 

Tu  OSes  me  jouer  ce  tour  ! 

Prends  <;a  pour  ta  peine,  vil  traitre  ! 
Et  apprends  a  te  bien  conduire." 


Quand  nous  eumes  cesse  nos  ebats, 

Laurent,  en  ce  triste  repaire 
Pour  le  disposer  au  trepas, 

Voit  entrer  Monsieur  le  Vicaire. 
Apres  un  sinistre  regard, 

Le  front  de  sa  main  il  se  frotte, 
Disant  tout  haut,  "  Venez  plus  tard  !  " 

Et  tout  bas,  "  Vilain"  colotte  !  " 
Puis  son  verre  il  vida  deux  fois. 


Lors  il  parla  de  I'echafaud, 

Et  de  sa  derniere  cravate  ; 
Grands  dieux  !  que  (;a  paraissait  beau 

De  la  voir  mourir  en  Socrate  ! 
Le  trajet  en  chantant  il  fit — 

La  chanson  point  ne  fut  un  pseaume  ; 
!Mais  palit  un  pevi  quand  il  vit 

La  statue  du  Roy  Guillaume — 
Les  pendards  n'aiment  pas  ce  roi ! 


178  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

When  he  came  to  the  nubbling  chit,  Quand  fut  au  bout  de  son  voyage, 

He  was  tuck'd  up  so  neat  and  so  pretty ;  Le  gibet  fut  pret  tn  un  clin  : 

The  rumbler  jugg'd  otT  from  his  feet,  Mourant  il  tourna  le  visage 

And  he  died  with  his  face  to  the  city.  \'ers  la  bonne  ville  de  Dublin. 

He  kick'd  too,  but  that  was  all  pride,  II  dansa  la  carmagnole. 

For  soon  you  might  see  'twas  all  over  ;  Et  moun.it  comme  fit  Malbrouck; 

And  as  soon  as  the  noose  was  untied,  Puis  nous  enterrames  le  drole 

'I'hen  at  darkey  we  waked  him  in  clover,  Au  cimetiere  de  Donnybrook. 

And  sent  him  to  take  a  ground-sweat.  Que  son  ame  y  soit  en  repos  ! 

There  has  been  an  attempt  by  \'ictor  Hugo  to  embody  into  a  book  the 
principle  sof  Stoic  philosophy  which  Larry  herein  propotmds  to  his  associates  ; 
and  the  French  poet  has  spun  out  into  the  shape  of  a  long  yarn,  called  "  Le 
dernier  Jour  dun  Condamne,"  what  my  friend  Dean  Burrowes  had  so  abiy 
condens'jd  in  his  immortal  ballad.  But  I  suspect  that  Addison's  tragedy  of 
"  Cato"  furnished  the  original  hint,  in  the  sublime  soliloquy  about  suicide — 

' '  It  must  be  so  !    Plato  I  thou  reasonest  well ;  " 

unless  we  trace  the  matter  as  far  back  as  Hamlet's  conversation  with  the  grave- 
digger. 

The  care  and  attention  with  which  "  the  boys"  paid  the  last  funeral  honours 
to  the  illustrious  dead,  anxious  to  testify  their  adhesien  to  the  doctrines  of  the 
defunct  philosopher  by  a  gloiious  "  wake,"  remind  me  of  the  pomp  and  cere- 
mony with  which  \\\Q.sans  iiilotics  of  Paris  conveyed  the  carcase  of  \oltaireand 
the  ashes  of  Jean  Jacques  to  the  Pantheon  in  1794.  1  h.e  wholesale  cut-throat 
Marat  was  subsequently  added  by  the  same  lads  to  the  relics  therem  gathered  ; 
and  never  was  there  an  inscription  so  bitterly  ironical  as  that  which  blazed  on 
the  front  of  the  temple's  gorgeous  portico — 

"  Aux  grands  hommes  la  patrie  reconnaissante  1 " 

The  "  Confessions  "  of  Rousseau  had  stamped  him  a  thorough  vagabond  ;  the 
"  Pucelle  "  of  \'oltrtire,  by  combining  an  outrage  on  morals  with  a  sneer  at  the 
purest  and  most  exalted  instance  of  romantic  patriotism  on  record  in  his  own  or 
any  other  country,  had  eminently  entitled  the  writer  to  be  "waked"  by  the 
most  ferocious  ruftians  that  ever  rose  from  the  kennel  to  trajnple  on  all  the 
decencies  of  life,  and  riot  in  all  the  beatitude  of  den:ocracy.  1  here  was  a  man 
in  those  days  who  deserved  to  live  in  better  times;  but  cnrried  awny  by  the 
frenzy  of  the  season  'for  "  madness  ruled  the  hour"),  he  vottd  for  the  death  of 
Louis  XVL  That  man  was  the  painter  Dnvid,  tl  en  amcn.bi-r  of  the  Con- 
vention; subsctjuentiy  the  imperial  artist,  whose  glorious  piilf.rings  of  "Ihe 
Passage  of  tl;c  Alps  by  Bonaparte,"  of  "The  Spartans  at  'Ihermopylce,"  and 
"The  Em.peror  in  h:s  Coronation  Kobes,"  shed  sucli  r;idiance  on  his  native 
land.  The  Bourbons  hnd  the  bad  taste  not  only  to  enforce  the  act  of  pro- 
scription in  his  case  while  he  lived,  but  to  proliibit  his  dead  body  from  bein^ 
interred  in  the  French  territory.  His  tonib  is  in  Brussels,  but  his  paintings 
adorn  the  Louvre  ;  and  lie  has  been  fortunate  enough  to  be  sung  by  Beranger, 
thus  doubly  certain  of  immortality. 

LE    CONVOI    DE    DAVID, 

Peintre  de  V Empcreur,  cx-RIcmbrc  dc  la  Convcniioti. 
Air— "De  Roland." 

"  Non  !  non  !  vous  ne  passerez  pas  I "  "  Soldat,"  disent-ils  dans  leur  deuil, 
Crie  un  voldat  su"-  la  frontifere,  "  Proscrit-on  aussi  sa  memoire? 

A  ceux  (lui  de  David,  hdlas  I  Quoi,  vous  repoussez  son  cercueil  ! 
Rapportaient  chez  nous  la  poussl^re.  Et  vous  heritez  de  sa  gloirc  ! " 


"  Non  !  non  I  vous  ne  passerez  pas  ! 

Dit  le  soldat  avec  furie. — 
"  Soldat,  ses  yeux  jusqu'au  trepas 

Se  sont  tournes  vers  la  patrie ; 
II  en  soutenait  la  splendeur 

Du  fond  d'un  exil  qui  Ihonore  : 
C'est  par  lui  qui  notre  grandeur 

Sur  la  toile  respire  er.core." 

"  Xon  I  non  !  vous  ne  passerez  pas  ! ' 

Redit  plus  bas  la  sentinelle. — 
"  Le  peintre  de  Leonidas 

Dans  la  liberie  n'a  vu  qu'elle  : 
On  lui  dut  le  noble  appareil^ 

Des  jours  de  joie  et  d  esperance, 
Oil  les  beaux  arts  a  leur  reveil 

Fetaient  le  reveil  de  la  France." 

"  Non  I  non  !  vous  ne  passerez  pas  ! '' 
Dit  le  soldat  ;  "c'est  ma  consigne. 

"Du  plus  grand  de  tons  les  soldats 
II  fut  le  peintre  le  plus  digne, 


A  I'aspect  de  I'aigle  si  fier, 

Plein  d'Homere,  et  I'ame  exaltee, 

David  crut  peindre  Jupiter — 
Helas  I  il  peignit  Promethee." 

"  Non  !  non  1  vous  ne  passerez  pas  !  " 

Dit  le  soldat,  devenu  triste. — 
"  Le  heros  apres  cent  combats 

Succombe,  et  Ton  proscrit  I'artiste  1 
Chez  Ictranger  la  mort  I'atteint — 

Qu'il  dut  trouver  sa  coupe  amere  ! 
Aux  cendres  d'un  ge'nie  eteint, 

France  1  tends  les  bras  d'une  mere. ' 

"  Non  !  non  !  vous  ne  passerez  pas  I " 

Dit  la  sentinelle  attendrie. — 
"  Eh  bien,  retournons  sur  nos  pas  ! 

Adieu,  terre  qu  il  a  cherie  ! 
Les  arts  ynt  perdu  le  Hambeau 

Qui  fit  palir  I'eclat  de  Rome  ! 
Allons  mendier  un  tombeau  , 

Pour  les  restes  de  ce  grand  homme  ' 


THE    OBSEQUIES    OF   DAVID   THE    PAINTER, 

Ex-jSlember  of  the  Xaiio?ial  Convention. 

The  pass  is  barr'd  !     "  Fall  back  !  "  cries  the  guard  ;  "  cross  not  the  French  frontier  ! " 

As  with  solemn  tread,  of  the  exiled  dead  the  funeral  drew  near.     _ 

For  the  sentinelle  hath  noticed  well  what  no  plume,  no  pall  can  hide, 

That  yon  hearse  contains  the  sad  remains  of  a  banish 'd  regicide  ! 

"  But  pity  take,  for  his  glory's  sake,"  said  his  children  to  the  guard  ; 

"  Let  his  noble  art  plead  on  his  part— let  a  grave  be  his  reward  I 

France  knew  his  name  in  her  hour  of  fame,  nor  the  aid  of  his  pencil  scorn  d  ; 

Let  his  passport  be  the  memory  of  the  triumphs  he  adoru'd  !  " 

"That  corpse  can't  pass  1  'tis  my  duty,  alas  '. "  said  the  frontier  sentinelle.— 

"  But  pity  take,  for  his  country' 's  sake,  and  his  clay  Go  nut  repel 

From  its  kindred  earth,  from  tlie  land  of  his  birth  ! '"  cried  tlie  mourners,  in  their  turn. 

"  Oh  !  give  to  France  the  inheritance  of  her  painter's  funeral  urn  : 

His  pencil  traced,  on  the  Alpine  waste  of  the  pathless  Mont  Bernard, 

Napoleon's  course  on  the  snow-white  horse— let  a  grave  be  his  reward  I 

For  he  loved  this  land— ay,  his  dying  hand  to  paint  her  fame  he'd  lend  her  : 

Let  his  passport  be  the  memory  of  his  nati^  e  country's  splendour  I  " 

"■Ye  cannot  pass,"  said  the  guard,  "  alas  !  (for  tears  bedimm'd  his  eyes) 
Though  France  mav  count  to  pass  that  mount  a  glorious  enterprise." —  _ 
"Then  pity  take,  fur  fair  Freedom's  sake,"  cried  the  mourners  once  again : 
"  Her  favourite  was  Leonidas,  with  his  band  of  Sp.artan  men  ; 
Did  not  his  art  to  them  impart  life's  breath,  that  France  might  see 
V/hat  a  patriot  few  in  the  gap  could  do  at  old  Thermopyla;  V 
Oft  by  that  sight  for  the  coming  fight  was  the  youthful  boscm  fired : 
Let  his  passport  be  the  memorj-  of  the  valour  he  inspired  1  " 

"  Ye  cannot  pass."—"  Soldier,  alas  !  a  dismal  boon  we  crave — 

Say,  is  there  not  some  lonely  spot  where  his  friends  might  dig  a  grave? 

Oh  :  pity  take,  for  that  hero's  sake  whom  he  gloried  to  portray 

With  crown  and  palm  at  Notre  Dame  on  his  coronation  day." 

Amid  that  band  the  wither'd  hand  of  an  aged  pontiff  rose. 

And  blessing  shed  on  the  conqueror's  head,  forgiving  his  own  woes  :— 

He  drew  that  scene— nor  dreamt,  I  ween,  that  yet  a  little  whila, 

And  tlie  hero's  doom  would  be  a  tomb  far  off  in  a  lonely  isle  I  " 


i8o  The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


"  I  am  charged,  alas  !  not  to  let  you  pass,"  said  the  sorrowing  sentinelle  ; 
"  His  destiny  must  also  be  a  foreign  grave  !  "— "  'Tis  well  !— 
Hard  is  our  fate  to  supplicate  for  his  bones  a  place  of  rest. 
And  to  bear  away  his  banish'd  clay  from  the  land  that  he  loved  best. 
But  let  us  hence  ! — sad  recompense  for  the  lustre  that  he  cast. 
Blending  the  rays  of  modern  days  with  the  glories  of  the  past  ! 
Our  sons  will  read  with  shame  this  deed  (unless  my  mind  doth  err)  ; 
And  a  future  age  make  pilgrimage  to  the  painter's  sepulchre  ! " 

How  poor  and  pitiful  the  attempt  to  crush  the  fame  of  such  a  man,  or  to 
visit  on  his  coffin  the  error  of  his  political  career  !  There  is  a  sympathy  in  our 
nature  that  rises  in  arms  against  any  act  of  persecution  that  vents  itself  upon 
the  dead  ;  and  genius  in  exile  has  ever  excited  interest  and  compassion.  This 
feeling  has  been  admirably  worked  upon  by  the  author  of  the  "Meditations 
Poetiques,"  a  poet  every  way  inferior  to  Beranger,  but  who,  in  the  following 
effusion,  has  surpassed  himself,  and  given  utterance  to  some  of  the  noblest  lines 
in  the  French  language. 

LA   GLOIRE. 

A  un  Poete  exile,  par  Alphonse  de  la  Martine. 

Genereux,  favoris  des  filles  de  memoire  ! 
Deux  sentiers  difterents  devant  vous  vont  s'ouvrir — 
L'un  conduit  au  bonheur,  I'autre  mene  a  la  gloire  ; 
Mortels  !  il  faut  choisir. 

Ton  sort,  O  Manoel  !  sui\'it  la  loi  commune  : 
La  muse  t'enivra  de  precoces  faveurs  ; 
Tes  jours  furent  tissus  de  gloire  et  d'infortune, 
Et  tu  verses  des  pleurs  ! 

Rougis,  plut6t  rougis,  d'envier  au  yulgaire, 
Le  sterile  repos  dont  son  cceur  est  jaloux  ; 
Les  dieux  out  fait  pour  lui  tous  les  biens  de  la  terre, 
Mais  la  lyre  est  a  nous. 

Les  Slides  sont  a  toi,  le  monde  est  ta  patrie  ; 
Quand  nous  ne  sommes  plus,  notre  ombre  a  des  autels, 
Ou  le  juste  avenir  prepare  a  ton  genie 
Des  honneurs  immortels. 

Oui,  la  gloire  t'attend  !  mais  arrete  et  contemple 
A  quel  prix  on  penetre  en  ces  parvis  sacres  ; 
Vois,  rinfortune,  assise  a  la  porte  du  temple, 
En  garde  les  de'gres. 

Ici  c'est  ce  vieillard  que  I'ingrate  lonie 
A  vu  de  niers  en  mers  promener  ses  malheurs  ; 
Aveugle,  il  mendiait,  au  prix  de  son  genie, 
Un  pain  mouille  de  pleurs. 

Lk  le  Tasse,  brlile  d'une  flamme  fatale, 
Expiant  dans  les  fers  sa  gloire  et  son  amour, 
Quand  il  va  recueillir  la  palme  triomphale. 
Descend  au  noir  se'jour. 

Par-tout  des  malheureux,  des  proscrits,  des  victimes, 
Luttp.nt  contre  le  sort,  ou  centre  les  bourreaux  ; 
On  dirait  que  le  Ciel  aux  cjcurs  plus  magnanimes 
Mesure  plus  de  maux. 

Impose  done  silence  aux  plaintes  de  ta  lyre — 
Des  coeurs  n<fs  sans  vertu  linfortune  est  I'ecueil  ; 
Mais  toi,  roi  dctrunc,  que  ton  malheur  t'inspire 
Un  genereux  orgueii. 


Que  t'importe,  apres  tout,  que  cet  ordre  barbare 
'i'enchaine  loin  des  bords  qui  furent  ton  berceau ? 
Que  t'importe  en  quel  lieu  le  destin  te  prepare 
Un  glorieux  tombeau  i 

Ni  I'exil  ni  le  fer  de  ces  t\-rans  du  Tage 
N'enchaineront  ta  gioire  aux  bords  ou  tu  mourras : 
Lisbonne  la  re'clame,  et  voila  I'heritage 
Que  tu  lui  laiiseras. 

Ceux  qui  I'cnt  meconnu  p^.eureront  le  grand  homme  I 
Athene  a  des  proscrits  ouvre  son  Pantheon  ; 
Coriolan  expire,  et  les  enfans  de  Rome 
Revendiquent  son  nom. 

Aux  rivages  des  morts  avant  que  de  descendre, 
Ovide  leve  au  ciel  ses  suppliantes  mains  : 
Aux  Sarmates  barbares  il  a  legue  sa  cendre, 
Et  sa  gioire  aux  Remains. 


CONSOLATION. 

Addressed  by  Lamartine  to  kisfnetidandbrotJier-poct,  Manoel,  banislied from  Lisbon. 

If  your  bosom  beats  high,  if  your  pulse  quicker  grows, 
When  in  visions  ye  fancy  the  wreath  of  the  Muse, 
There's  the  path  to  renown — there's  the  path  to  repose — 
Ye  must  choose  !  ye  must  choose  ! 

Manoel,  thus  the  destiny  rules  thy  career, 
And  thv  life's  web  is  woven  with  glor^-  and  woe  ; 
Thou  wert  nursed  on  the  lap  of  the  >Iuse,  and  thy  tear 
Shall  unceasingly  flow. 

O,  my  friend  I  do  not  envy  the  ^•ulgar  their  joys. 
Nor  the  pleasures  to  which  their  low  nature  is  prone ; 
For  a  nobler  ambition  oitr  leisure  employs— 
Oh,  the  I>Te  is  our  own  ! 

And  the  future  is  ours  !  for  in  ages  to  come, 
The  admirers  of  genius  an  altar  will  raise 
To  the  poet ;  and  Fame,  till  her  tioimpet  is  dumb. 
Will  re-echo  our  praise. 

Poet !  QAory  awaits  thee  ;  her  temple  is  thine  ; 
But  there's  on£  who  keeps  ^•igil,  if  entrance  you  claim : 
'Tis  MiSFORTfXE  !  she  sits  in  the  porch  of  the  shrine. 
The  pale  portress  of  Fame  I 

Saw  not  Greece  an  old-man,  like  a  pilgrim  array 'd. 
With  his  tale  of  old  Troy,  and  a  staff  in  his  hand. 
Beg  his  bread  at  the  door  of  each  hut,  as  he  stray 'd 
Through  his  own  classic  land  ? 

And  because  he  had  loved,  though  unwisely,  yet  well, 
Mark  what  was  the  boon  by  bright  beauty  bestow 'd— 
Blush,  Italy,  blush  I  for  yon  maniac's  cell 
It  was  Tasso's  abode. 

Hand  in  hand  Woe  and  Genius  must  walk  here  below, 
And  the  chalice  of  bitterness,  mix'd  for  mankind. 
Must  be  quaff  d  by  us  all  ;  but  its  waters  o'erflow 
For  the  noble  of  mind. 


Then  the  heave  of  thy  heart's  indignation  keep  down  ; 
Be  the  voice  of  lament  never  wrung  from  thy  pride  ; 
Leave  to  others  the  weakness  of  grief  ;  take  renown 
With  endurance  allied. 

Let  them  banish  far  off  and  proscribe  Cfor  they  can) 
Sadden'd  Portugal's  son  from  his  dear  native  plains  ; 
But  no  tjTant  can  place  the  free  soul  under  ban, 
•  Or  the  spirit  in  chains. 

No  I  the  frenzy-  of  faction,  though  hateful,  though  strong, 
From  the  banks  of  the  Tagus  can't  banish  thy  fame  : 
Still  the  halls  of  old  Lisbon  shall  ring  with  thy  song 
And  resound  with  thy  name. 

When  Dante's  attainder  his  townsmen  repeal'd — 
When  the  sons  stamp'd  the  deed  of  their  sires  with  abhorrence. 
They  summon'd  reluctant  Ravenna  to  yield 
Back  his  fame  to  his  Florence. 

And  with  both  hands  uplifted  Love's  bard  ere  he  breathed 
His  last  sigh,  far  away  from  his  kindred  and  home  : 
To  the  Scythians  his  ashes  hath  left,  but  bequeath'd 
All  his  glorj-  to  Rome. 

Never  does  poetry  assume  a  loftier  tore  than  wlien  it  becomes  the  vehicle  of 
calm  philosophy  or  generous  condolence  with  human  sufferings;  but  \vhen 
honest  patriotism  swells  the  note  and  exalts  the  melody,  the  effect  on  a  feeling 
heart  is  truly  delightful.     List  to  Beranger: — 


LE    VIOLOX    BRISK. 


Viens,  mon  chien  !  viens,  ma  pauvTe  bete  I 
Mange,  malgre  mon  desespoir. 

II  me  reste  un  gateau  de  fete — 
Demain  nous  aurons  du  pain  noir  I 

Les  etrangers,  vainqueurs  par  ruse, 
M'ont  dit  hier,  dans  ce  vallon  ! 

"  Fais-nous  danser  I  "  moi  je  refuse  ; 
L'lm  d'eux  brise  mon  violon. 

C'etait  I'orchestre  du  village  ! 

Plus  de  fetes,  plus  d'heureux  jours. 
Qui  fera  danser  sous  I'ombrage  ? 

Qui  reveillera  les  amours? 

Si  corde  vivement  press^e, 

Dts  Taurore  d'un  jour  bien  doux, 

Annongait  a  la  fiancee 

Le  cortege  du  jeune  cpoux. 

Aux  cures  qui  I'osaient  entendre 

N'os  danses  causaient  moins  d'effroi ; 

La  gaiete  qu'il  sQavait  rcpandre 
Kut  deride  le  front  dun  roi. 

S'il  preluda  dans  notre  gloire 

Aux  chants  quelle  nous  inspiralt, 

Sur  iui  jamais  pouvais-je  croire, 
Que  I'ctranger  se  vengerait? 


Combien,  sous  I'ombre  ou  dans  la  grange, 
Le  Dimanche  va  sembler  long  I 

Dieu  benira-t-il  la  vendange 
Qu'on  ouvrira  sans  violon  ? 

II  dela?sait  des  longs  ou\Tages  ; 

Du  pau\Te  etourdissait  les  maux  ; 
Des  grands,  des  impots,  des  orages, 

Lui  seul  consolait  nos  hameaux. 

Les  haines  il  les  faisait  taire. 

Les  pleurs  amers  il  les  sechait  ; 
Jamais  sceptre  n'a  fait  sur  tene 

Autant  de  bien  que  mon  archet. 

Mais  I'ennemi,  qu'il  faut  qu'on  chasse, 

M'a  rendu  le  courage  aise  : 
Qu'en  mes  mains  un  mousquet  remplace 

Le  violon  qu'il  a  brise  ! 

Tant  d'amis  dont  je  me  scpare 

Diront  un  jour,  si  je  ptris, 
"  II  n'a  point  voulu  qu'un  barhare 

Dansat  gaiment  sur  nos  debris  1  " 

Viens,  mon  chien  !  viens,  ma  pauvrc  lete 
Mange,  malgre  mon  desespoir. 

II  me  reste  un  giiteau  de  fete— 

Demain  nous  aurons  du  paiM  r!o"r  1 


The  Sojigs  of  France.  183 


THE    FRENCH    FIDDLER'S    LAMENTATION. 

IMy  poor  dog !  here  I  of  yesterday's  festival-cake 

Eat  the  poor  remains  in  sorrow  ; 
For  when  next  a  repast  you  and  I  shall  make,  ^ 

It  must  be  on  brown  bread,  which,  for  charity's  sake,  | 

Your  master  must  be.sj  or  borrow. 


Of  these  strangers  the  presence  and  pride  in  France 

Is  to  me  a  perfect  riddle  ; 
They  have  conquer'd,  no  doubt,  by  some  fatal  chance. 
For  they  haughtily  said,"  You  imist  play  us  a  dance  !" 

I  refused — and  they  broke  my  fiddle  ! 

Of  our  village  the  orchestra,  crush'd  at  one  stroke. 

By  that  savage  insult  perish 'd  ! 
'Twas  then  that  our  pride  felt  the  strangers'  yoke. 
When  the  insolent  hand  of  a  foreigner  broke 

What  our  hearts  so  dearly  cherish'd. 

For  whenever  our  youth  heard  it  merrily  sound, 

A  flood  of  gladness  shedding, 
At  the  dance  on  the  green  they  were  sure  to  be  found  ; 
W^hile  its  music  assembled  the  neighbours  around 

To  the  village  maiden's  wedding. 

By  the  priest  of  the  parish  its  note  was  pronounced 

To  be  innocent  "  after  ser\'ice  ;" 
And  gaily  the  wooden-shoed  peasantry  bounced 
On  the  bright  Sabbath-day,  as  they  danced  undenounced 

By  pope,  or  bonze,  or  dervis. 

How  dismally  slow  will  the  Sabbath  now  run, 

Without  fiddle,  or  flute,  or  tabor — 
How  sad  is  the  harvest  when  music  there's  none — 
How  sad  is  the  vintage  sans  fiddle  begun  ! — 

Dismal  and  tuneless  labour  I 

In  that  fiddle  a  solace  for  grief  we  had  got ; 

'Twas  of  peace  the  best  preceptor  ; 
For  its  sound  made  all  quarrels  subside  on  the  spot, 
And  its  bow  went  much  farther  to  soothe  our  hard  lot 

Than  the  crosier  or  the  sceptre. 

But  a  truce  to  my  grief  I — for  an  insult  so  base 

A  new  pulse  in  my  heart  hath  awoken  ! 
That  affront  I'll  revenge  on  their  insolent  race  ; 
Gird  a  sword  on  my  thigh — let  a  musket  replace 

The  fiddle  their  hand  has  broken. 

IMy  friends,  if  I  fall,  my  olci  corpse  in  the  crowd 

Of  slaughter 'd  martyrs  viewing, 
Shall  say,  while  they  wrap  my  cold  limbs  in  a  shroud, 
'Twas  not  his  fault  if  soine  a  barbarian  allow'd 

To  dance  in  our  countrj-'s  ruin  1 

It  would  be  a  pity,  while  we  are  in  the  patriotic  strain  of  sentiment,  to  allow 
the  feelings  to  cool ;  so,  to  use  a  technical  phrase,  we  shall  keep  tlie  steam  up, 
by  flinging  into  the  already  kindled  furnace  of  generous  emotions  a  truly 
national  ballad,  by  Casimir  Deiavigne,  concerning  a  well-known  anecdote  of 
the  late  revolution,  July,  1830.  ♦ 


1 84 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


LE    CHIEN   DU    LOUVRE. 


Cnsimir  Delavigne. 

Passant  !  que  ton  front  se  decou\Te  ! 

La  plus  d'un  brave  est  endormi  ! 
Des  fleurs  pour  le  martyr  du  Louvre, 

Un  peu  de  pain  pour  son  ami  I 


C'etait  le  jour  de  la  bataille, 
II  s'elanca  sous  la  mitraille, 

Son  chien  suivit  ; 
Le  plomb  tous  deux  vint  les  atteindre — 
Est-ce  le  martyr  qu'il  faut  plaindre? 

Le  chien  survit. 

!Morne.  vers  le  brave  il  se  penche, 
L'appelle,  et  de  sa  tete  blanche 

Le  caressant  ; 
Sur  le  corps  de  son  frere  d'armes 
Laisse  couler  ses  grosses  larmes 

Avec  son  sang. 

Gardien  du  terte  funeraire, 
Nul  plaisir  ne  pent  le  distraire 

De  son  ennui ; 
Et  fuyant  la  main  qui  I'attire, 
Avec  tristesse  il  semble  dire, 

"Ce  n'est  pas  lui  !" 

Quand  sur  ces  touffes  d'immortelles 
Brillent  d'humides  etincelles, 

An  point  du  jour, 
Son  oeil  se  ranime.  il  se  dresse 
Pour  que  son  maitre  le  caresse 

A  son  retour. 

Aux  vents  des  nuits,  quand  la  couronne 
Sur  la  croix  du  tombeau  frisonne, 

Perdant  I'espoir, 
II  veut  que  son  maitre  I'entende — 
II  gronde,  il  pleme,  et  lui  demande 

L'adieu  du  soir. 

Si  la  neige  avec  violence 

De  ses  flocons  couvre  en  silence 

Le  lit  de  mort, 
II  pousse  im  cri  lugubre  et  tendre, 
On  s'y  couche  pour  le  dcfendre 

Des  vents  du  nord. 

Avant  de  fermer  la  paupifere, 
II  fait  pour  soulever  \:\  pierre 

Un  vain  effort ; 
Puis  il  se  dit,  comme  la  veille 
"II  m'appelera  s'il  s'c veille" — 

Puis  il  s'endort. 

La  nuit  il  reve  barricades- 
Son  maitre  est  sous  la  fusillade. 

Convert  de  sang ; — 
II  I'entend  qui  siffle  dans  I'ombre, 
Se  l^ve,  et  saute  aprbs  son  ombre 

En  gcmissant. 


THE  DOG  OF  THE 
DAYS. 


THREE 


A  Ballad,  September,  1831. 

With  gentle  tread,  with  uncover 'd  head. 

Pass  by  the  Louvre-gate, 
\VTaere  buried  lie  the  "  men  of  July  !  " 
And  flowers  are  flung  by  the  passers-by. 

And  the  dog  howls  desolate. 

That  dog  had  fought 

In  the  fierce  onslaught. 
Had  rush'd  with  his  master  on  : 

And  both  fought  well ; 

But  the  master  fell — 
And  behold  the  surviving  one  ! 

By  his  lifeless  clay. 

Shaggy  and  grey. 
His  fellow-warrior  stood  : 

Nor  moved  beyond. 

But  mingled,  fond, 
Big  tears  with  his  master's  blood. 

Vigil  he  keeps 

By  those  green  heaps. 
That  tell  where  heroes  be  ; 

No  passer-by 

Can  attract  his  eye. 
For  he  knows  "  it  is  not  he  ! " 

At  the  dawn,  when  dew 

Wets  the  garlands  new 
That  are  hung  in  this  place  of  mourning, 

He  will  start  to  meet 

The  coming  feet 
Of  HIM  whom  he  dreamt  returning. 

On  the  grave's  wood  cross. 

When  the  chaplets  toss, 
By  the  blasts  of  midnight  shaken. 

How  he  howleth  !  hark  ! 

From  that  dwelling  dark 
The  slain  he  would  fain  awaken. 

When  the  snow  comes  fast 

On  the  chilly  blast, 
Blanching  the  bleak  churchyard, 

With  limbs  outspread 

On  the  dismal  bed 
Of  his  liege,  he  still  keeps  guard. 

Oft  in  the  night, 

With  main  and  might. 
He  strives  to  raise  the  stone  : 

Short  respite  takes— 

"  If  master  wakes, 
He'll  call  me"— then  sleeps  on. 

Of  bayonet-blades. 

Of  barricades, 
And  guns,  he  dreameth  most ; 

Starts  from  his  dream, 

And  then  would  seem 
To  eye  a  bleeding  ghost. 


The  Songs  of  France. 


i8s 


C'est  la  qu'il  attend  d'heure  en  heure, 
Qu'il  ainie,  qu"il  soufFre,  qu'il  pleure, 

Et  qu'il  mourra. 
Quel  fut  son  nom  ?    C'est  un  mystfere  ; 
Jamais  la  voix  qui  lui  fut  ch^re 

Ne  le  dira  ! 


He'll  linger  there 

In  sad  despair, 
And  die  on  his  master's  grave. 

His  name  ?    'Tis  known 

To  the  dead  alone — 
He's  the  dog  of  the  nameless  brave  ! 


Passant !  que  ton  front  se  decouvre  ! 

La  plus  d'un  brave  est  endormi  : 
Des  fleurs  pour  le  martyr  du  Louvre, 

Un  peu  de  pain  pour  son  ami  ! 


Give  a  tear  to  the  dead. 
And  give  some  bread 
To  the  dog  of  the  Louvre-gate  ! 
Where  buried  lie  the  men  of  July, 
And  flowers  are  flung  by  the  passers-by. 
And  the  dog  howls  desolate. 


When  Diderot  wrote  that  celebrated  sentence,  that  he  saw  no  difference 
between  himself  and  a  dog  but  the  clothes,  he,  no  doubt,  imagined  he  had 
conferred  a  compliment  on  the  dumb  animal.  I  rather  suspect,  knowing  the 
nature  of  a  thorough-bred  French  philosopher,  that  the  balance  of  dignity 
inchnes  the  other  way.  Certain  I  am,  that  anything  like  honest,  manly,  or 
affectionate  feeling  never  had  place  in  the  breast  of  this  contributor  to  the 
"  Encyclopedic,"  and  writer  of  irreligious  and  indecent  romances. 

What  though  the  pen  of  some  among  these  sophists  could  occasionally  trace 
eloquent  words  and  produce  specimens  of  impassioned  language  in  the  advo- 
cacy of  their  disastrous  theories  ? — still  do  they  leave  on  the  mind  the  impres- 
sion of  self-degraded  and  self-debased  intellect,  than  which  nothing  can  be 
more  dismal ;  and  these  outbursts  of  talented  blasphemy  only  remind  one  of 
the  NeapoUtan  imagery  conjured  up  by  the  poet  for  a  different  purpose,  being 
truly  like — 

*'  The  verdant  spots  that  bloom 
Around  the  crater's  burning  lips, 
Sweetening  the  very  edge  of  doom," — {Lalla  Rookh) 

if  the  result  be  an  eruption  of  all  the  evil  passions  of  mankind  to  desolate  the 
fair  face  of  society. 

It  is  with  unaffected  sorrow  I  find  the  noble  faculties  of  Beranger  devoted 
now  and  then  to  similar  villanies ;  but  in  the  following  he  has  clothed  serene 
philosophy  in  appropriate  diction. 


LES  ETOILES    QUI    FILENT. 

"Berger  !  tu  dis  que  notre  etoile 

Rfegle  nos  jours,  et  brille  aux  cieux  ?  "— 
"  Oui,  mon  enfant  !  mais  de  son  voile 

La  nuit  la  derobe  a  nos  yeux." — 
"  Berger  !  sur  cet  azur  tranquille 

De  lire  on  te  croit  le  secret ; 
Quelle  est  cette  etoile  qui  file. 

Qui  file,  file,  et  disparait  ?  " 


"  Mon  enfant,  un  mortel  expire  ! 

Son  etoile  tombe  a  I'instant ; 
Entre  amis  que  la  joie  inspire 

Celui-ci  buvait  en  chantant. 
Heureux,  il  s'endort  immobile 

Auprfes  du  vin  qu'il  celebrait."- 
"  Encore  une  etoile  qui  file, 

Qui  file,  file,  et  disparait  ?  " 


SHOOTING   STARS. 

"  Shepherd  !  they  say  that  a  star  presides 

Over  life?" — "  'Tis  a  truth,  my  son  ! 
Its  secrets  from  men  the  firmament  hides. 

But  tells  to  some  favoured  one." — 
"  Shepherd,  they  say  that  a  link  unbroken 

Connects  our  fate  with  some  favourite 
star  ; 
What  may  yon  shooting  light  betoken, 

That  falls,  falls,  and  is  quenched  afar  ?  ' 

"The  death  of  a  mortal,  my  son,  who  held 

In  his  banqueting-hall  high  revel; 
And  his  music  was  sweet,  and  his  wine  ex- 
celled, 

Life's  path  seemed  long  and  level  : 
No  sign  was  given,  no  word  was  spoken, 

His  pleasure  death  comes  to  mar.  ' — 
"  But  what  does  yon  milder  light  betoken, 

That  falls,  falls,  and  is  quenched  afar  ?  " 
I 


i86 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


"Tis  the  knell  of  beauty  ! — it  marks  the 
close 
Of  a  pure  and  gentle  maiden  ; 
And  her  cheek  was  warm  with  its  bridal 
rose, 
And    her    brow   with  its   bride-wreath 
laden  : — 
The  thousand  hopes  young  love  had  woken 

Lie  crushed,  and  her  dream  is  past" — 
"  But  what  can  yon  rapid  light  betoken, 
That   falls,   falls,   and   is   quenched    so 
fast'?" 

"  Tis  the  emblem,  my  son,  of  quick  decay  ! 

"Tis  a  rich  lord's  child  newly  born  : 
The  cradle  that  holds  his  inanimate  clay 

Gold,  purple,  and  silk  adorn  ; 
The  panders  prepared  through  life  to  haunt 
him 

Must  seek  some  one  else  in  his  room." — 
"Look,    now!    what  means    yon    dismal 
phantom 

That  falls,  falls,  and  is  lost  in  gloom ';  ' 

"  There,  son  !  I  see  the  guilty  thought 

Of  a  haughty  statesman  fail, 
11  "ho    the  poor   mans  covijorts  sic'^'^y 
sottght 

To  piiDider  or  curtail. 
His  former  sycophants  have  cursed 

Their  idol's  base  endeavour." — 
"  But  watch  the  light  that  now  has  burst. 

Falls,  falls,  and  is  quenched  for  ever  I  " 

"What  a  loss,  O  my  son,  was  there  ! 

V.here  shall  hunger  now  seek  relief"? 
The  poor,  who  are  gleaners  elsewhere. 

Could  reap  in  his  held  full  sheaf  1 
On  the  evening  he  died,  his  door 

Was  thronged  with  a  weeping  crowd.  ' — 
"  Look,  shepherd  !  there's  one  star  more 

That  falls,  and  is  quenched  in  a  cloud." 

"  'Tis  a  monarch's  star  !     Do  thou  preserve 

Thy  innocence,  my  child  ! 
Nor  from  thy  course  appointed  swers'e. 

But  there  >hine  ca'm  and  mild. 
Of  thy  star,  if  the  sterile  ray 

For  no  useful  purpose  shone. 
At  thy  death,  '  See  that  star,'  they'd  say  ; 

'  It  falls  I  falls  1  is  past  and  gone  ! '  " 

Tiie  philosophic  humour  of  the  next  ballad  is  not  in  so  magnificent  a  vein : 
but  good  sense  and  e.vcellent  wisdom  it  most  assuredly  containeth.  I  make  no 
apology  in  these  utilitarian  days  for  introducing  especially  to  Lord  Goderich's 
notice  a  commendatory  poem  on  a  much-abused  r.nd  unjustly  depreciated 
branch  of  the  feathered  familv.     Here  then  followeih — 


"  Mon  enfant  !  qu'elle  est  pure  et  belle  ! 

C'est  celle  d'un  objet  charmant ; 
Fille  heureuse  !  amante  fidele  I 

On  I'accorde  au  plus  tenure  amant  J 
Des  tleurs  ceignent  son  front  nubile, 

Et  de  I'Hymen  I'autel  est  pret." — 
"  Encore  une  etoile  qui  file. 

Qui  file,  file,  et  disparait?  " 


"  Mon  fils  !  c'est  I'etoile  rapide 

D'un  tres-grand  seigneur  nouveau-ne 
Le  berceau  qu'il  a  laisse  vide 

D'or  et  de  pourpre  etait  orne  : 
Des  poisons  qu'un  flatteur  distille, 

C'etait  a  qui  le  nourrirait." — 
"  Encore  une  etoile  qui  file. 

Qui  file,  file,  et  disparait  ?  " 


"  Mon  enfant,  quel  eclair  sinistre  ! 

C'etait  I'astre  d'un  favori, 
Qiii  St'  croyuit  Jin  ^rand  iitinistre, 

Qu.and  de  iios  7naux  il  avait  ri. 
Ceu.\  qui  servaient  ce  dieu  fragile 

Out  deja  cache  son  portrait." — 
"  Encore  une  etoile  qui  fi!e, 

Qui  file,  file,  et  disparait'*  " 

"  Mon  fils,  quels  pleurs  sont  les  n6tres  ! 

D'un  riche  nous  perdons  I'appui : 
L  indigence  glane  chez  les  autres, 

Mais  elle  moissonnait  chez  lui  ! 
Ce  soir  meme,  sur  d'un  asyie, 

A  son  toit  le  pauvre  accourait." — 
"  Encore  une  etoile  qui  file. 

Qui  file,  file,  et  disparait  ?  " 

"  C'est  celle  d'un  puissant  monarque  ! 

Va,  mon  fils  !  garde  ta  candeur  ; 
Et  que  ton  etoile  ne  marque 

Par  I'eclat  ni  par  la  grandeur. 
Si  tu  brillais  sans  etre  utile, 

A  ton  dernier  jour  on  dirait, 
*  Ce  n'est  qu'une  etoile  qui  file, 

Qui  file,  file,  et  disparait  ! '" 


LES   OIES 

(i8io). 

Des  chansonniers  damoiseau.'< 

J'abandonne  les  voles  ; 
Quittant  bosquets  et  reseaux, 
Je  chante  au  lieu  des  oiseaux- 
Les  oies  ! 


A  ]'axi:gvric  ox  geese 

(iSio). 

I  hate  to  sing  your  hackncy'd  birds — 

.So,  doves  and.  swans,  a  truce  ! 
^'our  nests  have  been  too  often  stirred  : 
My  hero  shall  be— in  a  wonl^ 
A  goose  I 


Rossignol,  en  vain  la  bas 

Ton  gosicr  se  dc'ploie  ; 

IMalgre  tes  brillants  appas, 

En  broche  tu  ne  vaux  pas 

Une  oie  ! 

Strasbourg  tire  vanite 

De  ses  pates  de  foie  ; 
Cette  superbe  cite 

Ne  doit  sa  prosperite 

Qu'aux  oies  ! 

On  pent  faire  un  bon  repac 

D'ortolans,  de  lamproies — 
jMais  Paris  n'en  produit  pas  ; 
II  s'y  trouve  a  chaque  pas 
Des  oies  ! 

Les  Grecs.  d"un  commun  aveu, 
S'ennuj'aient  devant  Troie  ; 
Pour  les  amuser  un  peu, 
Ulysse  inventa  le  jeu 

]_)e  I'oie. 

Sur  un  aigle,  au  vol  brutal, 

Jupiter  nous  foudroie  : 
II  nous  ferait  moins  de  mal 
S'll  choisissait  pour  cheval 
Une  o;e. 


The  nightingale,  or  else  "  bulbul," 

Ey  'I'oinmy  Mocre  let  loose, 
Is  grown  intolerably  dull — 
/  from  the  feathered  nation  cull 
A  goo£e  ! 

Can  roasted  Philomel  a  liver 

Fit  for  a  pie  produce  ? 
Fat  pies  that  on  the  Rhine's  sweet  river 
Fair  Strasburg  bakes.  Pray  who's  the  giver  ? 
A  goose  ! 

An  ortolan  is  good  to  eat, 

A  partridge  is  of  use  ; 
But  they  are  scarce — whereas  you  meet 
At  Paris,  ay,  in  every  street, 
A  goose  ! 

When  tired  of  war  the  Greeks  became. 

They  pitched  I'roy  to  the  deuce, 
Ulysses,  then,  was  not  to  blame 
For  teaching  them  the  noble  "game 
Of  goose  ! " 

May  Jupiter  and  Euonaparte, 

Of  thunder  le.-s  profu-e, 
Suffer  their  eagles  to  depart. 
Encourage  peace,  and  take  to  heart 
A  goose ! 


Wisdom  speaketh  sometimes  enigmatically,  and  openeth  her  mouth  in 
parables;  hence  the  oriental  fashion  of  conveying  a  sober  truth  by  allegorical 
narrative  is  occasionally  (and  gracefully)  adopted  by  the  poets  of  France,  one 
of  whom  has  left  us  this  pretty  line,  containing  ia  itself  the  precept  and  the 
exemplification  :  ' 

"  L'allegorie  habite  un  palais  diaphane  !  " 

Here  is  one  concerning  love  and  his  arch-enemy  Time,  by  Count  de  Segur. 


LE    TEMPS    ET    L'A^IOUR. 

A  voyager  passant  sa  vie, 

Certain  vieillard,  nomme  le  Temps, 
Pres  d'un  tleuve  arrive,  et  secrie, 

"  Prenez  pitie  de  mes  vieux  ans  I 
Eh,  quoi  I  suv  ces  bords  Ion  m'oublie— > 

Moi,  qui  compte  tous  les  instans  ? 
Jeunes  bergeres  I  je  vous  prie 

Venez,  venez,  passer  le  Temps  ! " 

De  I'autre  cote,  sur  la  plage. 

Plus  d'une  fille  regardait, 
Et  voulait  aider  son  passage 

Sur  une  barque  qu'Amour  guidait  ; 
I\Iais  I'une  d'elles,  bien  plus  sage, 

Leur  repetait  ces  mots  prudens— 
"  Ah,  souvent  on  a  fait  naufrage 

En  cherchent  a  passer  le  Temps  .  . 

Amour  gaiment  pousse  au  rivage — 
II  aborde  tout  pres  du  Temps  " 

II  lui  propose  le  voyage, 

L'embarque,  et  s'abandonne  aux  vents. 


1 88  Thfi  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Agitant  ses  rames  legferes, 

II  dit  et  redit  en  ses  chants — 
"  Vous  voyez,  jeunes  bergeres, 

Que  I'Amour  fait  passer  le  Temps  !  " 

Mais  I'Amour  bientftt  se  lasse 

Ce  fut  la  toujours  son  defaut ; 
Le  Temps  prend  la  rame  a  sa  place, 

Et  dit,  "  Eh  quoi  !  quitter  su6t  ? 
Pauvre  enfant,  quelle  est  ta  foiblesse  ! 

Tu  dors,  et  je  chante  a  mon  tour 
Ce  vieux  refrain  de  la  sagesse, 

Le  Temps  fait  passer  1' Amour  ! " 

TIME   AND    LOVE. 

Old  Time  is  a  pilgrim— with  onward  course 

He  journeys  for  months,  for  years  ; 
But  the  trav'ller  to-day  must  halt  perforce — 

Behold,  a  broad  river  appears  ! 
"  Pass  me  over,"  Time  cried  ;  "  O  !  tarry  not. 

For  I  count  each  hour  with  my  glass  ; 
Ye,  whose  skiff  is  moored  to  yon  pleasant^  spot — 

Young  maidens,  old  Time  come  pass  !  " 

Many  maids  saw  with  pity,  upon  the  bank, 

The  old  man  with  his  glass  in  grief ; 
Their  kindness,  he  said,  he  would  ever  thank, 

If  they'd  row  him  across  in  their  skiff. 
While  some  wanted  Love  to  unmoor  the  bark. 

One  wiser  in  thought  sublime  : 
"  Oft  shipwrecks  occur,"  was  the  maid's  remark, 

"  When  seeking  to  pass  old  Time  !  " 

From  the  strand  the  small  skiff  Love  pushed  afloat—* 

He  crossed  to  the  pilgrim's  side. 
And  taking  old  Time  in  his  well-trimmed  boat. 

Dipt  his  oars  in  the  flowing  tide. 
Sweetly  he  sung  as  he  worked  at  the  oar. 

And  this  was  his  merry  song — 
"  You  see,  young  maidens  who  crowd  the  shore. 

How  with  Love  Time  passes  along?  " 

But  soon  the  poor  boy  of  his  task  grew  tired. 

As  he  often  had  been  before  ; 
And  faint  from  his  toil,  for  mercy  desired 

Father  Time  to  take  up  the  oar. 
In  his  turn  grown  tuneful,  the  pilgrim  old 

With  the  paddles  resumed  the  lay  ; 
But  he  changed  it  and  sung,  "Young  maids,  behold 

How  with  Time  Love  passes  away  1  " 

I  now  close  this  paper  by  an  ode,  equal  to  any  ever  produced  on  the  subject 
of  "Time,"  and  surpassed  in  no  language,  ancient  or  modern.  Its  author,  a 
contemporary  of  the  philosophic  gang  alluded  to  throughout  this  essay,  was 
frequently  the  object  of  paltry  sarcasm,  because  he  despised  their  infidel  tlieories 
and  kept  aloof  from  their  coteries.  He  is  known  by  a  panegyric  on  Marcus 
Aurelius. 

ODE  AU  TEMPS.  ODE  TO  TIME. 

Si  je  devais  vm  jour  pour  de  viles  richesses  If  my  mind's  independence  one  day  I'm  to 
Vendrc  ma  liberie,  descendre  h.  des  bas-  sell,  .,        ,  t-     . 

sesses  --  If  with  Vice  m  her  pestilent  haunts  I  m  to 
Si   mon   c<i.ur  pas  mes  sens  devait   etre  dwell— 

amolli — 


The  Songs  of  France. 


189 


O  Temps,  je  te  dirais,  hate  ma  demiere 
heure, 
Hate-toi  que  je  meure  : 
J'aime  mieux  netre  pas  que  de  vi\Te  avili. 


Mais  si  de  la  vertu  les  genereuses  flammes 

Doivent  de  mes  ecrits  passer  en  quelques 
limes — 

Si  je  dois  d'un    ami    consoler    les    mal- 
heurs — 

S'il  est  des  malheiirevtx  dont  I'Dbscure  indi- 
gence 
Languisse  sans  defense, 

Et   dont  ma  faible  main  doit  essuyer  les 
pleurs  : — 

O  Temps  I  suspends  ton  vol  !   respect  ma 
jeunesse  I 

Que  ma  mere  long-temps,  temoin  de  ma 
tendresse, 

Re^oive  mes  tributs  de  respect  et  d'amour  ! 

Et  vous,   Gloire  I    Vertu  !    deesses  im- 
mortelles, 
Que  vos  brillantes  ailes 

Sur  mes  cheveux  blanchis  se  reposent  un 
jour  I 


Then  in  mercy,  I  pray  thee,  O  Time  ! 
Ere  that  day  of  disgrace  and  dishonour 

comes  on. 
Let  my  life  be  cut  short  I — better,  better  be 
gone 
Than  live  here  on  the  wages  of  crime  I 

But  if  yet  I'm  to  kindle  a  flame  in  the  soul 
Of  the  noble  and  free — if  my  voice   can 
console, 
In  the  day  of  despondency,  some — 
If  I'm  destined  to  plead  m  the  poor  man's 

defence — 
If  }ny  ivrititigs  ca7i force  from  the  national 
sense 
An  enacttnent  of  joy  for  his  home  ' 


Time  I   retard  thj-  departure  I   and  linger 
awhile — 

Let  my  "  songs  "  still  awake  of  my  mother 
the  smile — 
Of  my  sister  the  joy,  as  she  sings. 

But,  O  Glory  and  Virtue  !  your  care  I 
engage  ; 

WTien  I'm  old — when  my  head  shall  be  sil- 
vered with  age, 
Come  and  shelter  my  brow  with  your 
wings  ! 


X. 

{Fraser's  Magazme,  January,  1835.) 


[Prefixed  to  Retina's  number  for  January,  1835,  in  which  appeared  Mahony's  conclud- 
ing chapter  on  "  The  Songs  of  France,"  was  that  wonderful  double-page  folding  picture 
pencilled  by  the  master-hand  of  Alfred  Croquis,  in  which  the  twenty-seven  "Fraserians" 
were  seen  clustered  round  the  convivial  board  in  the  banqueting-room  at  215,  Regent 
Street,  on  the  occasion  of  a  grand  symposium.  When  the  Prout  Papers  were  issued  in 
the  following  year  as  a  substantive  publication,  Maclise  contributed  to  the  close  of  this  one 
in  particular  a  delightful  embellishment,  representmg  the  great  Chansonnier  in  his  plump 
adolescence,  with  an  arm  round  the  waist  of  hisgrisette— Z)rt;«  ?en  g?v7iier  qu'on  est  bicn 
a  7'/«^/ «;«— his  four  boon  comrades  evidently  toasting  Liselte  the  while  in  that  "snug 
little  kingdom  up  four  pair  of  stairs,"  sung  of  in  a  kindred  strain  long  afterwards  by 
William  ^Makepeace  Thackeray.] 


CHAPTER  IV.— Frogs  and  Free  Trade. 

*'  Cantano  gli  France  si — pagaranno  !  " 

Cardinal  Mazarin. 
They  sing?  tax  'em  !  " 

Prout, 

"  Ranae  vagantes  liberis  paludibus, 
Clamore  magno  regem  petierunt  a  Jove, 
Qui  dissilutos  mores  vi  compesceret." 

Ph.edri,  Fab.  2. 

England  for  fogs  !  the  sister-isle  for  bogs  ! 
France  is  the  land  for  liberty  and  frogs  ! 
Angels  may  weep  o'er  man's  fantastic  tricks  ; 
But  Louis-Philippe  laughs  at  Charley  Di.x. 
France  for  King  "Loggy"  now  has  got  "a  stork  :" 
See  Phaedrus— also  JE,sop. 

(Signed)        O.  Vokke. 

When,  in  excavating  our  chest  of  "Prout  Papers,"  we  were  fortunate 
enough,  last  October,  to  discover  among  the  riches  of  this  inexhaustible  mine 
the  happy  vein  of  precious  ore  which  we  liave  since  coined  at  the  mint  of 
Regina,  and  issued  under  the  superscription  of  "  Songs  of  France,"  we  called 
the  attention  of  Dr.  Bowring  to  the  gratifying  fact  of  this  foreign  specie  freely 
circulating  through  the  United  Kingdom  ;  and  challenged  the  Doctor  to  point 
out  any  similar  lesult  as  accruing  to  us  from  his  labours  in  the  grand  enterprise 


TJie  Songs  of  France,  191 

of  amalgamating  the  produce,  customs,  and  opinions  of  the  two  rival  nations. 
The  itinerant  commissioner  happened  then  to  be  perambulating  the  vineyards 
of  Burgundy,  and,  we  suppose,  was  too  deeply  engaged  in  comparing  and ' 
collating  the  growth  of  Cote  Roti  with  that  of  joigny  and  Macon  to  pick  up 
the  gauntlet  or  respond  to  our  cartel.  Neither  Silenus  in  his  autumnal  progress 
through  Arcadia,  nor  Sancho  Panza  when  he  chanced  to  be  jogging  on  the 
sunny  roads  of  prosperous  abundance,  was  remarkable  for  belligerent  propensi- 
ties ;  but  now  that  the  Doctor  has  fallen  on  evil  days,  and  that  his  employer. 
Brougham,  is  sent  to  the  right-about,  and  he  himself  is  no  longer  to  be  retamed 
as  overseer  in  the  vineyard,  it  is  time  for  him  "  to  render  an  account  of  his 
stewardship."  We  at  that  time  told  him  it  was  too  good  a  thing  to  last,  and 
that  the  man  on  the  woolsack  would  certainly  seek  to  supplant  him  in  his 
interesting  occupation  of  wine-taster  to  the  French  ;  since  which  vaticination 
of  ours  (see  our  October  preface  to  Prout)  the  event  has  completely  justified 
our  forecast  ;  for  we  learn  that  the  ***. chancellor  has  written  a  most  pressing 
letter  from  the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  oifering  to  act  under  the  new  Ministry  in  the 
capacity  of  "  chief  bottler, "  or  migratory  commissioner  among  the  wine- 
growers of  France,  selecting  the  town  of  Cognac  for  his  head-quarters. 

To  return  to  "  the  chest."  The  more  we  develop  these  MSS.,  and  the  deeper 
we  plunge  into  the  cavity  of  Prout's  wondrous  coffer,  the  fonder  we  become  of 
the  old  presbyter,  and  the  more  impressed  with  the  variety  and  versatility  of 
his  powers.  His  was  a  tuneful  soul  !  In  his  earthly  envelope  there  dwelt  a 
hidden  host  of  melodious  numbers  ;  he  was  a  walking  store-house  of  harmony. 
The  followers  of  Huss,  when  they  had  lost  in  battle  their  commander  Zisca, 
had  the  wit  to  strip  him  of  his  hide;  out  of  which  (when  duly  tanned)  they 
made  unto  themselves  a  drum,  to  stimulate  by  its  magic  sound  their  reminis- 
cences of  so  much  martial  glory  :  our  plan  would  have  been  to  convert  the 
epidermis  of  the  defunct  father  into  that  engine  of  harmony  which,  among 
Celtic  nations,  is  known  by  the  name  of  the  "bagpipe;"  and  thus  secure  to 
the  lovers  of  song  and  melody  an  invaluable  relic,  an  instrument  of  music 
which  no  Cremona  fiddle  could  rival  in  execution.  But  we  should  not  produce 
it  on  vulgar  occasions  :  the  ministerial  accession  of  the  Duke  (1835),  should 
alone  be  solemnized  by  a  blast  from  this  musico-cutaneous  phenomenon ;  aware 
of  the  many  accidents  which  might  otherwise  occur,  such  as,  in  the  narrative 
of  an  Irish  wedding,  has  been  recorded  by  the  poet, — 

"  Then  the  piper,  a  dacent  gossoon, 
Began  to  play  '  Eileen  Aroon ; ' 
Until  an  arch  wag 
Cut  a  hole  in  his  bag, 
Which,  alas  1  put  an  end  to  the  tune 

Too  soon  I 
The  music  blew  up  to  the  moon  !  " 

Lord  Byron,  who  had  the  good  taste  to  make  a  claret-cup  out  of  a  human 
skull,  would,  no  doubt,  highly  applaud  our  idea  of  preserving  a  skinful  of 
Prout's  immortal  essence  in  the  form  of  such  an  ^^olian  bagpipe. 

But  song  powerful  and  melodious  was  not  the  sole  excellence  of  the  mighty 
genius  who  is  now  no  more.  A  nobler  faculty  gave  vigour  to  his  pen.  In  evolving 
some  of  the  more  recondite  papers  of  this  Watergrasshill  hermit,  we  have  made 
a  discovery  which  will  create  universal  astonishment  in  the  literary  world.  We 
say  nothing  further  for  the  present ;  but  we  can  positively  announce  that,  from 
certain  documents  found  in  Prout's  chest,  in  his  own  handwriting,  and  bearing 
the  date  of  Lord  North's  and  the  Duke  of  Grafton's  ministry,  the  long-disputed 
authorship  of  "  Junius's  Letters,"  and  the  famous  "Stat  nominis  umbra,"  are 
to  us  no  longer  shrouded  in  mysterious  darkness  or  involved  in  the  labyrinthine 
mazes  of  conjectural  blind-man's-buff— in  fact,  Prout  WAS  Junius.  Butmum  ! 
for  the  present. 


192  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

In  our  last  chapter  we  have  given  his  opinions  on  the  merit  of  the  leading 
French  philosophers — a  gang  of  theorists  now  happily  swept  off  the  face  of  the 
earth,  or  most  miserably  supplanted  in  France  by  St.  Simonians  and  Doc- 
trinaires, and  in  this  country  by  the  duller  and  more  plodding  generation  of 
"  Utihtarians."  To  Denis  Diderct  has  succeeded  Dionysius  Lardner,  both 
toiling  interminable  at  their  cyclopaedias,  and,  like  wounded  snakes,  though 
trampled  on  by  all  who  tread  the  paths  of  science,  still  rampant  onwards  in  the 
dust  and  sUme  of  elaborate  authorship.  Truly,  since  the  days  of  the  great 
St.  Denis,  who  walked  deliberately,  with  imperturbable  composure,  bearing  his 
head  in  his  astonished  grasp,  from  Montmartre  to  the  fifth  milestone  on  the 
northern  road  out  of  Paris ;  nay,  since  the  still  earlier  epoch  of  the  Sicilian 
schoolmaster,  who  opened  a  "university"  at  Corinth,  omitting  Dionysius  of 
Hahcarnassus,  and  Denis  the  critic  who  figures  in  the  "  Dunciad,"  never  has 
the  name  been  borne  with  greater  eclat  than  by  its  great  modern  proprietor. 
His  theories,  and  those  of  Dr.  Bowring,  are  glanced  at  in  the  following  paper, 
which  concludes  the  Proutean  series  of  the  "  fcongs  of  France." 

Far  be  it  from  us  to  imagine  that  either  of  these  learned  doctors  will  turn 
from  their  crude  speculations  and  listen  to  the  voice  of  tlie  charmer,  charm  he 
ever  so  wisely ;  we  know  the  self-opinionated  tribe  too  well  to  fancy  such  a 
consummation  as  the  result  of  old  Front's  strictures  :  but,  since  the  late  down- 
fall of  Whigger}-,  we  can  afford  to  laugh  at  what  must  now  only  appear  in  the 
harmless  shape  of  a  solemn  quiz.  We  would  no  moiie  quarrel  with  them  for 
hugging  their  cherished  doctrines  than  we  would  find  fault  with  the  Hussites 
above  mentioned  ;  who,  when  the  Jesuit  Peter  Canisius  came  to  Prague  to 
argue  them  into  conciliation,  inscribed  on  their  banner  the  following  epigram- 
matic hne  : 

"'  Tu  procul  esto  '  Canis,'  pro  nobis  excubat  '  anser  !' " 

The  term  " ////jj  "  being,  from  the  peculiarity  of  its  guttural  sound,  among 
Teutonic  nations  indicative  of  what  we  call  a  goose. 

With  due  diligence  apply  thee,  O  gentle  reader  !  to  the  perusal  and  under- 
standing of  the  following  pages ;  con  over  each  sagacious  a.xiom,  ponder  on 
each  grave  remark,  and  having  digested  well  the  wisdom  of  Front's  piiilosophic 
lecture,  call  for  another  bottle  or  thy  nightcap.  1  hou  art  sure  to  wake  next 
morning  a  wiser  and  a  better  man. 

OLIVER   YORKE. 
"jan.  1st,  1835. 


■Watergr.-vsshill,  Jan.  i,  1832. 

It  is  with  nations  as  with  indi\idua]s  :  the  greater  is  man's  intercourse  with 
his  fellow-man  in  the  interchange  of  social  companionship,  and  the  mutual 
commerce  of  thought,  the  more  polished  and  enlightened  he  becomes ;  and,  in 
the  keen  encounter  of  wit,  loses  whatever  awkwardness  or  indolence  of  mind 
may  hiive  been  his  original  portion.  If  the  aggregate  wisdom  of  any  country 
could  be  for  a  moment  supposed  hermetically  sealed,  ab  initio,  from'the  inter- 
fusion of  foreign  notions,  and  from  all  contact  with  extraneous  ideas,  relv  on  it 
there  would  be  found  a  most  lamentable  poverty  of  intellect  in  "that  land  of 
Goshen,"  a  sad  torpor  in  the  public  feelings,  and  a  woful  stagnation  in  the  deli- 
cate "  fluid  "  called  thought.  Peru.  Mexico,  and  China — the  first  at  the  period 
of  the  Incas,  the  last  in  our  own  day — have  offered  us  specimens  of  the  very 
highest  degree  of  mental  culture  which  may  be  expected  from  a  collective  body 
of  men,  either  studiously  or  accidentally  sequestered  from  the  rest  of  the 
species  ;  and  still  I  know  not  if,  in  both  these  mstances,  the  original  stock  of 
information  derived  from  the  first  settlers  did  not  constitute  the  entire  intellectual 
wealth  of  these  remote  dwellers  in  two  secluded  sections  of  the  globe,  thus 


The  Songs  of  France.  193 

casually  mentioned  by  me  to  illustrate  my  thesis.  Xay,  on  incjuiry,  it  will  be 
found,  that  Egypt  (which  has  on  all  sides  been  admitted  to  have  been  the  great- 
grandmother  of  inventions  in  art,  science,  and  literature)  was  evidently  but  the 
dowager  widow  of  aiitcdiliiviaii  Knozvledi^e  ;  and  that  the  numerous  progeny 
which  has  since  peopled  the  universe,  all  the  offspring  of  intermarriage  and 
frequent  alliance  with  barbarous  and  uncivilized  nations,  bears  undoubted  marks 
of  family  resemblance,  and  features  of  a  common  origin.  I'he  literature  of 
Greece  and  Rome  reflects  back  the  image  of  Hebrew  and  Eastern  composition  ; 
the  Scandinavian  poets  are  not  without  traces  of  affinity  to  their  Arabic 
brethren  ;  the  inspiration  of  Irish  melody  is  akin  to  that  of  Persian  song;  and 
the  very  diversity  of  detail  only  strengthens  the  likeness  on  the  whole  : 

"  Fades  non  omnibus  una, 
Nee  diversa  tamen,  qualis  decet  esse  sororum." 

Ovid. 

See  a  work  by  the  Jesuit  Andres,  entitled  "  Storia  di  ogni  Letteratura." 
Parma,  1782. 

St.  Chrysostom,  talking  of  the  link  which  connects  the  Mosaic  writings  with 
tlie  books  of  the  New  Testament,  and  the  common  agreement  that  is  found 
between  the  thoughts  of  the  prophet  of  ]Mount  Carmel  and  those  of  the  sub- 
lime solitary  of  the  island  of  Patmos,  introduces  a  beautiful  metaphor ,  as, 
indeed,  he  generally  does,  when  he  wishes  to  leave  any  striking  idea  impressed 
on  his  auditory.  "  Christianity,"  quoth  he  oi  ihe  gold e?i  mouth,  "struck  its 
roots  in  the  books  of  the  Old  1  estament ;  it  blossomed  in  the  Gospels  of  the 
New  :  "  Eppi^aiyi;  fxf.v  tv  tcis  (jii3\iol5  tu)v  tt peeper uiv,  s(3\a(jTii(ja  6a  av  tois 
EvayyaWioLi  -rtoy  uTroarTuXcoi/. — HomiL  dc  Nov.  et  Vet.  Test. 

If  I  may  be  allowed  to  apply  the  holy  bishop's  illustration  to  matters  of 
minor  importance,  I  would  saj'-,  that  taste  and  refinement  among  modern 
writers  are  traceable  to  an  intimate  and  growing  acquaintance  with  the  ancient 
classics;  an  intimacy  which,  though  not  possessed  by  each  individual  member 
of  the  great  family  of  authors,  still  influences  the  whole,  and  pervades  the 
general  mass  of  our  literature.  A  certain  antique  bon  ton  is  unconsciously  con- 
tracted even  by  our  female  eontribtitors  to  the  comjmon  fund  of  literary  enjoy- 
ment ;  and  I  could  mention  a  fair  writer  whom  I  naturally  presume  innocent 
of  Greek,  both  in  prose  and  poetry  is  as  purely  Attic  in  style  as  if,  instead  of 
the  homely  realities  of  Cockney  diet,  she  had  fed  in  her  infancy  on  the  honey 
of  Mount  Hymettus. 

The  eloquent  French  lawyer,  De  Marchangy,  in  his  "  Gaule  Poetique  "  fa 
book  already  quoted  by  me  in  the  opening  chapter  of  these  "  Songs  "),  attributes 
— I  know  not  how  justly— the  first  rise  of  poetic  excellence,  and  the  early 
developm.ent  of  art,  science,  and  elegant  accomplishments  in  Provence  (where 
taste  and  scholarship  made  their  first  appearance  with  the  troubadours),  to  the 
circumstance  of  Marseilles  having  been  a  Grecian  colony;  and  he  ascribes 
the  readiness  with  which  the  Provencal  genius  caught  the  flame,  and  kindled 
it  on  the  fragrant  hills  of  that  beautiful  coast  of  the  Mediterranean,  to  a  certain 
predisposition  in  the  blood  and  constitutional  habit  of  the  people,  derived 
from  so  illustrious  a  pedigree.  "'Twas  a  glorious  day  !  "  exclaims  the  poetic 
attorney-general,  going  back  in  spirit  to  the  epoch  of  that  immigration  of  the 
Phocians  into  Gallia  Narbonensis — "'twas  a  noble  spectacle  to  see  those  sons 
of  civilization  and  commerce  land  on  our  barbarous  but  picturesque  and 
hospitable  shore  !  to  see  the  gallant  children  of  Attica  shake  from  their  buskins 
on  our  territory  the  dust  of  the  hippodrome,  and  entwine  the  myrtle  of  Gnicius 
w  ith  the  mistletoe  of  Gaul  !  When  their  fleet  anchored  in  our  gladdened  gulf 
of  Provence,  when  their  voices  uttered  sounds  of  cultivated  import,  when  the 
music  of  the  Lesbian  lute  and  Teian  Ivre  came  on  the  charmed  senses  of  our 

1   ♦ 


194  T^^^^  Works  of  Father  Front. 

rude  ancestors,  a  shout  of  welcome  was  heard  from  our  hills ;  and  our  Druids 
hailed  with  the  hand  of  fellowship  the  priests  of  Jove  and  of  Apollo.  Mar- 
seilles arose  to  the  sound  of  harmonious  intercourse,  and  to  the  eternal  triumph 
of  international  commingling !  You  would  have  thought  that  a  floating 
island  of  Greece,  that  one  of  the  Cyclades.  or  Delos  the  wanderer  of  the 
Archipelago,  had  strayed  away  and  taken  root  upon  our  coast,  crowned  with 
its  temples,  filled  with  its  inhabitants,  its  sacred  groves,  its  arts,  its  laws,  its 
perfume  of  refinement  in  love,  and  its  spirit  of  freedom  !  " 

"Free  trade"  in  all  the  emanations  of  intellect  has  ever  had  a  purely 
beneficial  effect,  blessing  him  who  gave  and  him  who  received  :  it  never  can 
injure  a  nation  or  an  individual  to  impart  knowledge,  or  exchange  ideas.  This 
is  an  admitted  principle.  From  the  sun,  who  lends  his  brilliancy  to  the  planets 
and  the  "silver  moon,"  to  the  Greenwich  pensioner,  who  lights  his  pipe  at  the 
focus  of  a  neighbours  calumet,  Jire,  and  flame,  and  brightness,  are  of  their 
nature  communicable,  without  loss  or  diminution  in  the  slightest  way  to  the 
communicant.  So  it  is  with  brilliancy  of  mind.  But  to  come  down  from  these 
ethereal  and  sylph-like  speculations,'  from  the  fairy  domain  of  fancy  to  ihe 
sober  homeliness  of  fact,  are  the  same  principles  applicable,  under  existing 
circumstances,  to  the  productions  of  manual  toil  and  the  distribution  of 
employment  through  the  different  trades  and  crafts?  Is  it  for  the  interest  of 
the  material  and  grosser  world,  who  eat.  drink,  are  clothed,  and  surrounded 
with  household  necessities— who  are  condemned  to  look  for  support  through 
the  troublesome  medium  of  daily  labour— is  it  fit  or  judicious,  in  the  com- 
plicated state  of  the  social  frame  now  established  in  Europe,  to  lay  level  all  the 
barriers  which  climate,  soil,  situation,  and  industry,  have  raised  for  the  protec- 
tion of  the  productive  classes  in  each  country  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  a  theoreti- 
cal aurora  borealis,  which  has  dawned  froiu  the  north  on  our  school  of  political 
economy,  to  confound  all  the  elements  of  actual  life,  and  try  back  on  all  the 
wisdom'of  antiquity?  As  sagacious  and  as  profound  would  be  a  proposal  to 
abolish  the  quarant'ine  laws,  that  "free  trade  "  might  be  enjoyed  by  the  plague  ; 
to  break  down  the  dykes  of  Holland,  that  the  ocean  should  not  be  deprived 
of  its  "  free  trade;  "  to  abohsh  all  the  "  patent  laws."  that  "  free  trade"  maybe 
possessed  by  the  dull  and  the  uninventive;  the  "  gjime  laws,  '  that  all  may 
shoot  snipe;  "  tolls, ".that  all  may  go  where  they  list  unimpeded  ;  "  rent,"  that 
all  may  live  scot-free;  and,  finally,  the  laws  of  property,  the  laws  of  marriage, 
and  the  laws  of  God,  which  are  more  or  less  impediments  in  the  way  of  "free 
trade." 

I  am  fully  aware  that  the  advantages  of  this  grand  project  for  rendering  each 
nation  dependent  on  foreign  supply  for  objects  of  primest  necessity,  and  establish- 
ing a  nicely  balanced  equipoise  in  the  commercial  relations  of  every  spot  in  the 
globe,  have  been  luminously  vindicated  and  laboriously  unfolded  in  maiiy  a 
goodly  tome,  to  the  great  delight  of  Miss  Martineau,  and  the  infinite  edifica- 
tion of  the  general  public  ;  but  I  am  humbly  of  opinion  that  the  best  practical 
treatise  on  the  subject,  and  the  most  forcible  recommendation  of  its  benefits  to 
all  concerned,  have  come  from  the  philosophic  pen  of  Beranger,  who  has, 
according  to  his  custom,  embodied  the  maxims  of  "free  trade,"  as  well  as 
many  other  current  doctrines,  in  the  short  compass  of  a  song. 

LES    BOHEMIENS.  POLITICAL    ECONOMY    OF 

Beranger.  THE    GIPSIES. 

Sorciers,  bateleurs,  ou  filou.x  !  Sons  of  witchcraft  I  tribe  of  thieves  ! 

Reste  immonde  Whom  the  villager  believes 

D'un  ancien  monde  !  To  deal  with  Satan, 

Sorciers,  bateleurs,  ou  filou.x  !  Tell  us  your  customs  and  your  rules  : 

Gais  Boh^miens  !  d'ou  venez-vous  ?  Whence  came  ye  to  this  land  of  fools. 

On  whom  ye  fatten  ? 


The  Songs  of  France. 


195 


D'ou  nous  venons  ?    L'on  n'en  scait  nen. 
L'hirondelle, 
D'oii  vous  vient-elle? 
D'ou  nous  venons  ?     L'on  n'en  S9ait  rlen. 
Oil  nous  irons  le  s?ait  on  bien. 


Sans  paj's,  sans  prince,  et  sans  lots, 
Notre  vie 
Doit  faire  envie, 
Sans  pays,  sans  prince,  sans  lois, 
L'homme  est  heureux  un  jour  sur  trois. 


Tous  independans  nous  naissons, 
Sans  eglise 
Qui  nous  baptise  : 
Tous  independans  nous  naissons, 
Au  bruit  du  fifre  et  des  chansons. 


Nos  premiers  pas  sont  degages 
Dans  ce  monde 
Ou  I'erreur  abonde  ; 
Nos  premiers  pas  sont  degages 
Du  vieux  maillot  des  prejuges. 


"Whence  do  we  come?    Whence  comes 

the  swallow? 
Where  does  our  home  lie  ?    Try  to  follow 

The  wild  bird's  flight, 
Speeding  from  winter's  rude  approach  : 
Such  home  is  ours.     Who  dare  encroach 

Upon  our  right  ? 

Prince  we  have  none,  nor  gipsy  throne, 
Nor  magistrate  nor  priest  we  own, 

Nor  tax  nor  claim  ; 
Blithesome,  we  wander  reckless,  free, 
And  happy  two  days  out  of  three ; 

A\  hu  11  say  the  same  ? 

Away  with  church-enactments  dismal  I 
We  have  no  liturgy  baptismal 

WHien  we  are  born  ; 
Save  the  dance  imder  greenwood  tree, 
And  the  glad  sound  of  revehy 

W  ith  pipe  and  horn. 

At  our  first  entrance  on  this  globe. 
Where  Falsehood  walks  in  varied  robe, 

Caprice,  and  whims, 
— Sophist  or  bigot,  heed  ye  this  ! — 
The  swathing-bands  of  prejudice 

Lound  not  our  limbs. 


Au  peuple  en  but  a  nos  larcins, 

Tout  grimoire 

En  peut  faire  accroire  ;_ 

Au  peupie  en  but  a  nos  larcins, 

II  faut  des  sorciers  et  des  saints. 


Fauvres  oiseaux  que  Dieu  bcnit, 
De  la  ville 
Qu'on  nous  exile  ; 
Pauvres  oiseaux  que  DIeu  benit, 
Au  fond  des  bois  prend  notre  nid. 


Ton  ceil  ne  peut  se  detacher, 
Philosophe 
De  mince  etoffe— 
Ton  oL-il  ne  peut  se  detacher 
Du  vieux  coq  de  ton  vieux  clocher. 


Well  do  we  ken  the  vulgar  mind, 
Ever  to  IVuth  and  Candour  blind. 

But  led  bj-  Cunning  ; 
What  rogue  can  tolerate  a  brother  ? 
Gipsies  contend  with  priests,  each  other 

In  tricks  outrunning. 

Your  '  towered  cities '  please  us  not 
But  give  us  some  secluded  spot, 

Far  from  the  millions  : 
Far  from  the  busy  haunts  of  men, 
Rise  for  the  night,  in  shady  glen. 

Our  dark  pavilions. 

Soon  we  are  off ;  for  we  can  see 
Nor  pleasure  nor  philosophy 

In  fixed  dwelling. 
Ours  is  a  life — the  life  of  clowns, 
Or  drones  who  vegetate  in  towns. 

Far,  far  excelling  ! 


Voir,  c'est  avoir!  allons  courir  I 
Vie  errante 
Est  chose  enivrante  ; 
Voir,  c'est  avoir  !  allons  courir  ! 
Car  tout  voir  c'est  tout  conquerir. 


Alais  a  rhomme  on  crie  en  tout  lieu, 
Qu'il  s'agite, 
Ou  croupisse  au  gite  ; 
Mais  a  l'homme  on  crie  en  tout  lieu, 
Tu  nais,  "  bonjour  I"  tu  meurs,  "  adieu  I ' 


Paddock  and  park,  fence  and  enclosure. 
We  scale  with  ease  and  v.ith  composure  : 

"Tis  quite  delightful  ! 
Such  is  our  empire's  mystic  charm, 
We  are  the  owners  of  each  farm. 

More  than  the  rightful. 


Great  is  the  folly  of  the  wise, 
If  on  relations  he  relies. 

Or  trusts  in  men  ; 
'  Welcome  ! '    they    say,    to    babes 

newly. 
But  when  your  life  is  eked  out  duly, 

'  Good  evening  ' '  then. 


bom 


196 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Quand  nous  mourons,  vieux  ou  bambin, 
Homme  ou  femme, 
A  Dieu  soit  notre  ame ; 
Quand  nous  sommes  morts,  vieux  ou  bam- 
bin, 
On  vend  le  corps  au  carabin. 

Mais  croyez  en  notre  gaiete. 
Noble  ou  pretre. 
Valet  ou  maitre ; 
!Mais  croyez  en  notre  gaiete, 
I^e  bo7iheicr  c'est  la  liberie. 


None  among  us  seeks  to  illude 
By  empty  boast  of  brotherhood. 

Or  false  affection  ; 
Give,  when  we  die,  our  souls  to  God- 
Our  body  to  the  grassy  sod. 

Or  'for  dissection,' 

Your  noblemen  may  talk  of  vassals. 
Proud  of  their  trappings  and  their  tassels ; 

But  never  heed  them  : 
Ours  is  the  life  of  perfect  bliss — 
Freedom  is  man's  best  joy,  and  this 

Is  PERFECT    FREEDOM  !  " 


This  gipsy  code  of  utilitarian  jurisprudence,  in  v.  isdom  far  outshining  the 
"Pandects,"  the  "Digest,"  or  the  "Code  Napoleon,"  is  gratuitously  sub- 
mitted to  the  disciples  of  Jeremy  Bentham,  as  the  groundwork  of  legislative 
reform  whenever  an  experiment  is  fairly  to  be  made  on  the  "vile  body"  of 
existing  laws,  and  when  the  destinies  of  this  country  shall  be  entrusted  to  the 
doctors  of  destruction. 

To  arrive  at  this  blissful  millennium  is  not  a  matter  of  easy  accomphshment. 
The  chances  are  becoming  every  day  more  unfavourable.  The  perception  and 
relish  of  mankind  as  far  as  experimental  innovation  is  concerned  have  been 
found  v.-ofuUy  dull  in  these  latter  days  ;  and  great  are  the  trials  and  lamentable 
the  disappointments  encountered  by  the  apostles  of  popular  enlightenment. 
"  Co-operative  theories,"  once  the  cherished  bantlings  of  the  utilitarian  family, 
in  England  have  gone  to  the  grave  unwept,  unhonoured,  and  unsung  ;  while  in 
America  the  music  of  "  New  Harmony,  '  instead  of  developing  its  notes 

"  In  many  a  bout 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out," 

has  snapped  off  most  abruptly. 

In  France,  after  years  of  successive  change,  and  the  throes  of  constant 
revolutionary  convulsion,  the  early  dream  of  Young  Philosophy  is  still 
unrealized,  and  the  shade  of  Anacharsis  Clootz  wanders  through  the  "  Elysian 
fields  "  dejected  and  dissatisfied.  Sanscullotism  is  positively  more  abominated 
by  the  occupying  tenant  of  the  Tuileries  at  this  moment  than  in  the  haughtiest 
days  of  the  lofty-minded  Marie  Antoinette  ;*  and  the  monarchy  has  lost  nothing 
of  its  controlling  power,  whatever  it  may  have  acquired  of  homeliness  and  vul- 
garity. The  vague  and  confused  ravings  of  the  first  outbreak  in  1790,  after  three 
years'  saturnalia,  aptly  terminated  in  the  demoniac  rule  of  an  upstart  "  man  of 
the  people,"  and  revolution  became  incarnate  in  Robespierre.  The  subsequent 
years  of  confusion  naturally  condensed  themselves  into  the  substantive  shape  of 
a  military  despotism,  with  the  redeeming  feature  of  unparalleled  glory  in  arms, 
and  brilliant  success  in  "  all  the  walks  of  war."  That  too  passed  away,  and  a 
brief  lull  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  the  democratic  dream,  while  old  Louis  XVIII. 
nodded  in  that  elbow-chair  which  answered  all  the  purposes  of  a  throne ;  the 
imbecile  Charles  furnished  too  tempting  an  opportunity  for  another  experiment, 
and  it  was  seized  with  the  avidity  of  truant  schoolboys  who  get  up  a  "  barring 
o.ut ;"  but  the  triumph  of  the  barricades,  and  the  splendours  of  the  Three  Days, 
met  dim  eclipse  and  disastrous  twilight  in  the  accession  of  the  citizen  king, 
whose  opaque  form  arose  between  the  soleil  de  Juillct  and  the  disappointed 

*  Can  anything  be  more  hideously  disgusting  than  the  comparison  which  the  dis- 
charged Chancellor  AilxcA  to  make  in  the  Tuileries  between  himself  (as  quondam  counsel 
for  the  profligate  paramour  of  liergami)  and  the  veteran  French  advocate  of  the  martyred 
Queen  of  P' ranee":'  There  is  a  river  in  Monmouth,  and  one  in  Macedon  ;  but,  shade  of 
Edmund  Burke  !  who  can  associate  the  trials  of  Mane  Antoinette  and  Caroline? 


republicans  casting  an  ominous  shade  over  the  land  of  frogs.  Still  loud  and 
incessant  is  the  croaking  of  the  dissatisfied  children  of  the  philosophic  swamp, 
little  knowing  {Jiauvres  gretioiiilles !)  that,  did  not  some  such  opaque  body- 
interpose  between  the  scorchmg  luminan'  of  July  and  their  liquid  dwelling, 
they  and  their  progeny  would  have  been  parched,  burnt  up,  and  annihilated  in 
the  torrid  glow  of  republican  fer\'our.  Aristophanes  has  a  ludicrous  dialogue 
between  Charon  and  an  unruly  mob  of  frogs,  who  refuse  to  cease  their  querulous 
outer)',  even  though  threatened  with  the  splashing  oar  of  the  ferryman  : 

AWa  \xnv  KBKpa^ofisada  y' 
'Oiroaroi/  i]  (papvy^  av  huwv 

apBKlKEKt^,    KOa^,    KOa^ 

Barpax-  Act  i.  Scene  5. 

"  In  our  own  quagmire,  'tis  provoking 
That  folks  should  think  to  stop  our  croaking  ! 
Sons  of  the  swamp,  mth  lungs  of  leather, 
Now  is  our  time  to  screech  together  ! " 

Atoi-UTio?  Aop5n7p. 

But  I  lose  time  in  these  extra-parochial  discussions ;  and  therefore.  leaving 
the  utilitarians  and  their  disciples  to  chorus  it  according  to  their  own  view 
of  the  case,  I  return  to  the  French  arbiter  of  Song,  the  exquisite  model  of 
poetic  expression— arbiter  elegantiarum — Beranger.  Xone  of  the  heroes  who 
accomplished  this  last  revolution  felt  their  discomfiture  of  Utopian  theories, 
and  the  utter  annihilation  of  their  fond  anticipations,  more  than  our  poet, 
whose  ideas  are  cast  in  the  mould  of  Spartan  republicanism.  He  must,  how- 
ever, resign  himself  with  philosophic  patience  to  the  melancholy  result ;  and, 
indeed,  if  I  may  judge  from  a  splendid  embodying  of  his  notions  concerning 
Providence  and  the  government  of  this  sublunary  world,  in  an  ode,  which 
(though  tinged  somewhat  with  Deism)  contains  much  excellent  matter  and 
impassioned  poetic  feeling,  I  should  think  that  in  this  consummation  he  still 
may  find  comfort  in  a  review  of  past  occurrences,  and  in  the  retrospect  of  his 
own  individual  sincerity  and  disinterestedness  throughout  the  struggle  for 
freedom. 

LE   DIEU    DES    BONNES    GEXS.* 

II  est  im  Dieu  ;  devant  lui  je  m'incline. 

Pau\Te  et  content,  sans  lui  demander  rien. 
De  I'univers  observant  la  machine, 

J'y  vols  du  mal,  ec  n'aime  que  le  bien ; 
Mais  le  plaisir  a  ma  philosophie 

Revele  assez  de  cieux  intelligens. 
Le  verre  en  main,  gaiement  je  me  confie 

Au  Dieu  des  bonnes  gens  ! 


*    EXTR.\CT    FROM   THE   PlE.\DING   OF   DUPIX,  IN  THE   PROSECUTION   AGAINST 

Beranger. 

'■'  Dans  Le  Dieu  des  Bofines  Gens  il  celebre  Texistence  de  Dieu  : 

'  II  est  un  Dieu  ;  devant  lui  je  m'incline, 
Pau\Te  et  content,  sans  lui  demander  rien.' 

(M.  Dupin  lit  cette  piece  en  entier  :  la  grandeur  des  idees,  la  richesse  de  la  poesie,  et 
I'espece  d'enthousiasme  qui  soutient  cette  lecture,  ra\-issent  les  auditeurs.  Le  respect  seul 
pent  empecher  les  applaudissemens  d'eclater.) 

"  Dieu  est  misericord ieux  : 


198 


— , 

The  Works  of  Father  Front.  \ 


Dans  mon  rcduit  ou  Ton  voit  I'indigence 

Sans  m'eveiller  assise  a  mon  chevet, 
Grace  aux  amours  berce  par  I'esperance, 

D'un  lit  plus  doux  je  reve  le  duvet  ; 
Aux  dieux  des  cours  qu'un  autre  sacrifie — 

Moi,  qui  ne  crois  qu'a  des  dieux  indulgens, 
Le  verre  en  main,  gaiement  je  me  confie 

Au  Dieu  des  bonnes  gens  ! 

Un  conquerant,  dans  sa  fortune  altiere, 

Se  fit  un  jeu  des  sceptres  et  des  rois  ; 
Et  de  ses  pieds  Ton  peut  voir  la  poussiere 

Empreinte  encor  sur  le  bandeau  des  rois  ; 
Vous  rampiez  tous,  O  rois  !  qu'on  deifie — 

Moi,  pour  braver  des  maitres  exigeans, 
Le  verre  en  main,  gaiement  je  me  confie 

Au  Dieu  des  bonnes  gens  ! 

Dans  nos  palais,  oil  pres  de  la  victoire 

Brillaient  les  arts,  doux  fruits  des  beaux  climats, 

J'ai  vu  du  nord  les  peuplades  sans  gloire 
De  leurs  manteaux  secouer  les  frimats  : 

Sur  nos  debris  Albion  nous  defie  ; 

RIais  la  fortune  et  les  Acts  sont  changeans — 

Le  verre  en  main,  gaiement  je  me  confie 

Au  Dieu  des  bonnes  gens  ! 

Quelle  menace  un  pretre  fait  entendre? 

Nous  touchons  tous  a  nos  demiers  instans  ; 
L'eternite  va  se  faire  comprendre, 

Tout  va  finir  I'univers  et  le  tems  : 
Vous,  cherubins,  a  la  face  bouffie, 

Reveillez,  done  les  morts  peu  diligens — 
Le  verre  en  main,  gaiement  je  me  confie 

Au  Dieu  des  bonnes  gens  ! 

Mais,  quelle  erreur  !  non,  Dieu  n'est  point  colore  : 

S'il  crea  tout,  a  tout  il  sert  d'appui. 
Vins  qu'il  nous  donne,  amitie  tutelaire, 

Et  vous,  amours,  qui  crees  apres  lui, 
Pretez  un  charme  a  ma  philosophic, 

Pour  dissiper  des  reves  affiigeans  ! — 
Le  verre  en  main,  gaiement  je  me  confie 

Au  Dieu  des  bonnes  gens  ! 

THE    GOD   OF   BERAXGER. 

There's  a  God  whom  the  poet  in  silence  adores, 

But  molests  not  his  throne  with  importunate  prayer  ; 

For  he  knows  that  Che  evil  he  sees  and  abhors, 
There  is  blessing  to  balance,  and  balm  to  repair. 


"  II  est  juste  : 


'  Mais,  quelle  erreur  !  non,  Dieu  n'est  point  colere  : 
S'il  crea  tout,  a  tout  il  sert  d'appui.' 

'  Dieu  qui  punit  le  t^Tan  et  I'esclave, 
Veut  te  voir  libre,  et  libre  pour  toujours.' 


"  Bcranger  croit  a  rimmortalitc  de  I'ame  ; 

*  Ah  !  sans  regret,  mon  ame,  partez  vite  ; 
En  souriant,  remontez  vers  les  cieux.' 

"  Du  reste,  je  vous  si  fait  connaltre  ses  priiicipes  religieux  ;  il  ne  vous  est  plus  perm^s 
de  rcvoquer  en  doute  son  respect  pour  la  Divinite  ;  mais  vous  savez  aiissi  quel  est  son 
Dieu  ;  ce  n'est  pas  celui  de  la  vengeance— c'^j^  le  Dieu  des  bonnes  gens."— It.  ilnd. 


But  the  plan  of  the  Deity  beams  in  the  bowl, 

And  the  eyelid  of  beauty  reveals  his  design  : 
Oh  !  the  goblet  in  hand,  I  abandon  my  soul 

To  the  Giver  of  genius,  love,  friendship,  and  wine  ! 

At  the  door  of  my  dwelling  the  children  of  want 

Ever  find  the  full  welcome  its  roof  can  afford! 
While  the  dreams  of  the  rich  pain  and  poverty  haunt, 

Peace  awaits  on  my  pillow,  and  joy  at  my  board. 
Let  the  god  of  the  court  other  votaries  seek — • 

No  !  the  idol  of  sycophants  never  was  mine  ; 
Eat  I  worship  the  God  of  the  lowly  and  meek, 

In  the  Giver  of  genius,  love,  friendship,  and  wine  ! 

I  have  seen  die  a  captive,  of  courtiers  bereft, 

Him,  the  sound  of  whose  fame  through  our  hemisphere  rings  ; 
I  have  mark'd  both  his  rise  and  his  fall  :  he  has  left 

The  imprint  of  his  heel  on  the  forehead  of  kings. 
Oh,  ye  monarchs  of  Europe  I  ye  crawl'd  round  his  throne — 

Ye,  who  now  claim  our  homage,  then  knelt  at  his  shrine ; 
But  I  never  adored  him,  but  turn'd  me  alone 

To  the  Giver  of  genius,  love,  friendship,  and  wine  ! 

The  Russians  have  dwelt  in  the  home  of  the  Frank  ; 

In  our  halls  from  their  mantles  they've  shaken  the  frost ; 
Of  their  war-boots  our  Louvre  has  echoed  the  clank. 

As  they  pass'd,  in  barbarian  astonishment  lost. 
O'er  the  ruins  of  France,  take,  O  England  !  take  pride  ! 

Yet  a  similar  downfall,  proud  land  !  may  be  thine; 
But  the  poet  of  freedom  still,  still  will  confide 

In  the  Giver  of  genius,  love,  friendship,  and  wine  ! 

This  planet  is  doom'd,  by  the  priesthood's  decree. 

To  deserved  dissolution  one  day,  O  !  my  friends  ; 
Lo  !  the  hurricane  gathers  ;  the  bolt  is  set  free  ! 

And  the  thunder  on  wings  of  destruction  descends. 
Of  thy  trumpet,  archangel,  delay  not  the  blast ; 

Wake  the  dead  in  the  graves  where  their  ashes  recline  : 
While  the  poet,  unmoved,  puts  his  trust  to  the  last 

In  the  Giver  of  genius,  love,  friendship,  and  wine  ! 

But  away  with  the  nightmare  of  gloomy  forethought  ! 

Let  the  ghoul  Superstition  creep  back  to  its  den  ; 
Oh  !  this  fair  goodly  globe,  fiU'd  with  plenty,  was  wrought 

By  a  bountiful  hand,  for  the  children  of  men. 
Let  me  take  the  full  scope  of  my  years  as  they  roll. 

Let  me  bask  in  the  sun's  pleasant  rays  while  they  shine  ; 
Then,  with  goblet  in  hand,  I'll  abandon  my  soul 

To  the  Giver  of  genius,  love,  friendship,  and  wine  ! 

WTiatever  may  be  ihe  failings  and  errors  of  our  poet,  the  result  of  the  times  in 
which  he  has  lived,  and  the  disastrous  days  on  which  his  youth  has  fallen,  there 
is  discernible  in  his  writings  the  predominant  character  of  his  mind — frankness, 
single-heartedness,  and  candour.  It  is  impossible  not  to  entertain  a  friendly 
feeling  towards  such  a  man  ;  and  I  am  not  surprised  to  learn  that  he  is  cherished 
by  the  French  people,  ever  prompt  to  detect  genuine  disinterestedness  in  their 
patriots,  with  a  fervency  akin  to  idolatry.  He  is  no  tuft-hunter,  nor  Whigling 
sycophant,  no  imgenerous  trafficker  in  his  merchandise  of  song.  Neither  has 
he  sought  to  convert  his  patriotism  into  an  engine  for  picking  the  pockets  of 
the  poor.  He  has  set  up  no  pretensions  to  nobihty ;  although,  had  he  chosen  to 
figure  in  the  plastic  pages  of  the  genealogical  ^Ir.  Burke,  he  could  no  doubt 
trump  up  a  story  of  Norman  ancestry,  and  convert  some  old  farm-house  on  the 
sea-coast  into  an  "abbey."  It  is  not  with  the  affectation  and  hypocrisy  of  a 
swindhng  demagogue,  but  with  the  heartfelt  cordiality  of  one  of  themselves, 


200 


TJie  Works  of  Father  P^'oict. 


that  he  glories  in  belonging  to  the  people.    What  poet  but  Beranger  ever  thought 
of  commemorating  the  garret  where  he  spent  his  earlier  days? 

LE  GRENIER  DE  BERANGER.    THE  GARRET  OF  BERANGER. 


Je  reviens  voir  I'asyle  oil  ma  jeunesse 

De  la  misere  a  subi  les  lemons ; 
J'avais  vingt  ans,  une  folk  maitresse, 

De    francs  amis,  et  I'amour   des  chan- 
sons ; 
Bravant  le  monde.  et  les  sots,  et  les  sages, 

Sans  avenjr,  riche  de  mon  printems, 
Leste  et  joyeux,  je  montais  six  etages— 

Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  ! 


C'est    un  grenier,    point    ne    veux    qu'on 
I'ignore  : 
La  fut  men  lit,  bien  chetif  et  bien  dur  ; 
Ki  fut  ma  table  ;  et  je  retrouve  encore 
Trois  pieds  d'un  vers  charbonnes  sur  le 
mur. 
Apparaissez,  plaisirs  de  mon  bel  Sge, 

Que  d'un  coup  d'ceil  a  fustige  le  tems ! 
Vingt  fois  pour  vous  j'ai  mis  ma  montre  en 
gage — 
Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  I 

Lisette  ici  doit  surtout  apparaitre, 

V'ive,  jolie,  avec  un  frais  chapeau  ; 
Deja  sa  main  a  I'etroite  fenetre 

Suspend  son  schale  en  guise  de  rideau  : 
Sa  robe  aussi  va  parer  ma  couchette — 

Respecte,    Amour !    ses    plis    longs    et 
flottans :     _ 
J'ai  su  depuis  qui  payait  sa  toilette — 

Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  ! 

A  table  un  jour,  jour  de  grande  richesse, 
De    mes    amis    les    voix    brillaient    en 
chosur, 
Quand  jusqu'ici  monte  un  cri  d'alegresse, 

Qu'a  Marengo  Bonaparte  est  vainqueur  ! 
Le  canon  gronde — un   autre   chant   com- 
mence— 
Nous  cciebrons  tant  de  faits  eclatans  ; 
Les  rois  jamais  n'envahiront  la  France- 
Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  ! 

Quittons  ce  toit,  ou  ma  raison  s'enivre — 

Oh,  qu'ils  sont  loin  ces  jours  siregrettcs  ! 
J'echangerai  ce  qu'il  me  reste  a  vivre 

Centre   un   des  jours   qu'ici   Dieu    m'a 
comptes, 
Pour  rC'ver  gloire,  amour,  plaisir,  folic. 

Pour  dcpenser  sa  vie  en  peu  d'instans, 
D'un  long  espoir  pour  la  voir  embellie— 

Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt 
ans  ! 


Oh  I  it  was  here  that  Love  his  gifts  be- 
stow'd 
On  youth's  wild  age  ! 
Gladly   once    more    I    seek    my    youth's 
abode, 
\\\  pilgrimage  : 
Here   my  young  mistress  with   her  poet 
dared 
Reckless  to  dwell  : 
She     was    sixteen,    I    twentj',     and    we 
shared 
This  attic  cell. 

Yes,  'twas  a  garret !  be  it  known  to  all, 

Here  was  Love's  shrine  : 
There  read,  in  charcoal  traced  along  the 
wall, 
Th'  unfinish'd  line — 
Here  was  the  board  where  kindred  hearts 
would  blend. 
The  Jew  can  tell 
How  oft  I  pawn'd  my  watch,  to  feast  a 
friend 
In  attic  cell  ! 


O  !  my  Lisette's  fair  form  could  I  recall 

With  fair^'  wand  ! 
There  she  would  blind  the  window  with 
her  shawl — 

Bashful,  yet  fond  ! 
WTiat  though  from  whom  she  got  her  dress 
Fve  since 

Learnt  but  too  well. 
Still  in  those  days  I  envied  not  a  prince 

In  attic  cell ! 

Here   the   glad    tidings   on   our    banquet 
burst, 
I\Iid  the  bright  bowls  :  _ 
Yes,  it  was  here  Marengo's  triumph  first 

Kindled  our  souls  ! 
Bronze   cannon   roar'd  ;  France    with  re- 
doubled might 
Felt  her  heart  swell  ! 
Proudly  we  drank  our  consul's  health  that 
night 
In  attic  cell  ! 

Dreams   of  my  joyful   youth!    I'd   freely 
give, 
Ere  my  life's  close. 
All  the  dull  days  I'm  destined  yet  to  live. 

For  one  of  those  ! 
^Vhere  shall  I  now  find  raptures  that  were 
felt, 
Joys  that  befell, 
And  hopes  that  dawn'd  at  twenty,  when  I 
dwelt 
In  attic  cell? 


The  Songs  of  France.  201 

Nothing  can  offer  a  more  ludicrous  and  at  the  same  time  a  more  disgusting 
image  to  the  mind  of  a  dispassionate  observer  of  passing  transactions,  than  the 
assumption  of  radical  pohtics  by  some  men  whose  essential  nature  is  thoroughly 
imbued  with  contempt  for  the  mob,  while  they  are  straining  every  nerve  to 
secure  its  sweet  voices.  I  could  name  one  who  has  written  a  "fashionable" 
novel  with  intent  to  record  his  assianed  sentiments  respecting  the  distinctions 
of  hereditary  rank  in  this  country,  and  who  would  feel  very  acutely  the  depriva- 
lion  of  the  rank  and  name  he  bears,  or  an  inquiry  into  the  devious  and  question- 
able title  by  which  he  retains  them.  None  are  so  sensitive  on  this  point  as  the 
characters  I  allude  to  ;  and  the  efforts  they  make  to  conceal  their  private  feelings 
before  the  swinish  multitude  remind  me  of  the  lines  of  the  poet  addressed  to 
the  republicans  who  paraded  the  streets  of  Paris  in  1793  : 

"  JNIais  enfoncez  dans  vos  culottes 
Le  bout  de  linge  qui  pend  ! 
On  dira  que  les  patriotes 
Ont  deploj'e  le  '  drapeau  blanc' " 

Autobiography  is  the  rage.  John  Gait,  the  Ettrick  Hogg,  the  English 
Opium-eater,  Sir  Egerton  Brydges,  Jack  Ketch,  Grant-Thorburn,  and  sundry 
other  personages,  have  lately  adorned  this  department  of  our  literature.  In 
his  song,  the  "Tailor  and  the  Fairy,"  Beranger  has  acquitted  himself  of  a  task 
Vvhich  has  become  indispensable  in  modern  authors. 

LE  TAILLEUR   ET   LA   FEE. 

Dans  ce  Paris,  plein  d'or  et  de  misere, 

En  I'an  du  Christ  mil  sept  cent  quatre-vingt, 
Chez  un  tailleur,  mon  pauvre  et  vieux  grand-pfere, 

INIoi  nouveau-ne,  sachez  ce  qui  m'advint. 
Rien  ne  predit  la  gloire  d'un  Orphee 

A  mon  berceau,  qui  n'ctait  pas  de  fleurs  ; 

Mais  mon  grand-pere,  accourant  a  mes  pleurs, 
Me  trouve  un  jour  dans  les  bras  d'une  fee. 

Et  cette  fee,  avec  de  gais  refrains, 
Calmait  le  cri  de  mes  premiers  chagrins. 

*'  Le  bon  viellard  lui  dit ;  L'ame  inquifete  ! 
A  cet  enfant  quel  destin  est  promis?" 
Elle  repond  :  ''  Vois  le  sous  ma  baguette, 

Gargon  d'auberge,  imprimeur,  et  commis  ; 
Un  coup  de  foudre'  ajoute  a  mes  presages — 
Ton  Ills  atteint,  va  perir  consume  ; 
Dieu  le  regarde,  et  I'oiseau  ranime 
Vole  en  chantant  braver  d'autres  orages." 

Et  puis  la  fee,  avec  de  gais  refrains, 
Calmait  le  cri  de  mes  premiers  chagrins. 

*'  Tons  les  plai=irs,  sylphes  de  la  jeunesse, 
Eveilleront  sa  lyre  au  sein  des  nuits ; 
All  toit  du  pauvre  il  repand  I'alegresse, 

A  I'opulence  il  sauve  des  ennuis. 
Mais  quel  spectacle  attriste  son  langage? 
Tout  s'engloutit  et  gloire  et  liberte  ! 
Comme  un  pecheur  qui  rentre  epouvante, 
II  vient  au  port  reconter  leur  naufrage." 

Et  puis  la  fee,  avec  de  gais  refrains, 
Calmait  le  cri  de  mes  premiers  chagrins." 

.  granger  tells  us  in  a  note,  that  in  early  life  he  had  well  nigh  perished  by  the  electric 
fluid  in  a  thunder-storm.  The  same  is  related  of  IMartiii  Luther,  when  at  the  university  ; 
and  made  such  an  impression  on  the  father  of  reform  that  he  turned  monk.  The  flash 
which,  in  Luther's  case,  changed  the  student  into  a  monkish  habit,  in  Beranger's  con- 
verted the  tailor's  goose  into  a  swan. — Pkout. 


202  The  Works  of  Father  Protit. 

THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   P.  J.   DE  BERANGER. 

From  F?-cnch  Verse  7iJ>set  into  English  Recitative. 

Paris  !  gorgeous  abode  of  the  gay  ?    Paris  !  haunt  of  despair  ! 

Tliere  befell  in  thy  bosom  one  day  an  occurrence  most  weighty. 
At  the  house  of  a  tailor,  my  grandfather,  under  whose  care 

I  was  nursed,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  seventeen  hundred  and  eighty. 
By  no  token,  'tis  true,  did  my  cradle  announce  a  young  Horace— 
And  the  omens  were  such  as  might  well  lead  astray  the  unwary  ; 
But  with  utter  amazement  one  morning  my  grandfather,  Maurice, 
Saw  his  grandchild  reclining  asleep  in  the  arms  of  a  fairy  I 
And  this  fairy  so  handsome 
Assumed  an  appearance  so  striking, 
And  for  me  seemed  to  take  such  a  liking, 
That  he  knew  not  what  gift  he  should  offer  the  dame  for  my  ransom. 

Had  he  previously  studied  thy  Legends,  O  rare  Cfofty  Croker  ! 

He'd  have  learnt  how  to  act  from  thy  pages — ('tis  there  that  the  charm  is  !) 
But  my  guardian's  first  impulse  was  rather  to  look  for  the  poker, 

To  rescue  his  beautiful  boy  from  her  hands  vi  et  arinis. 
Yet  he  paused  in  his  plan,  and  adopted  a  milder  suggestion. 

For  her  attitude,  calm  and  unterrified,  made  him  respect  her; 
So  he  thought  it  was  best  to  be  civil,  and  fairly  to  question, 
Concerning  my  prospects  in  life,  the  benevolent  spectre. 
And  the  fairy,  prophetical, 
Read  my  destiny's  book  in  a  minute, 
■With  all  the  particulars  in  it  : 
And  its  outline  she  drew  with  exactitude  most  geometrical. 

"  His  career  shall  be  mingled  with  pleasure,  though  chequer'd  with  pain. 
And  some  bright,  sunny  hours  shall  succeed  to  a  rigorous  winter  : 
See  him  first  a.  gnr^on  at  a  hostelry — then,  with  disdain 

See  him  spurn  that  vile  craft,  and  apprentice  himself  to  a  printer. 
As  a  poor  university-clerk  view  him  next  at  his  desk  ; — 

Mark  that  flash  I — he  will  have  a  most  narrow  escape  from  the  lightning  : 
But  behold  after  sundry'  adventures,  some  bold,  some  grotesque. 
The  horizon  clears  up,  and  his  prospects  appear  to  be  brightening." 
And  the  fair>',  caressing 
The  infant,  foretold  that,  ere  long, 
He  would  warble  unrivall'd  in  song ; 
All  France  in  the  homage  which  Paris  had  paid  acquiescing. 

"  Yes,  the  Muse  has  adopted  the  boy  !     On  his  brow  see  the  laurel  I 
In  his  hand  'tis  Anacreon's  cup  ! — with  the  Greek  he  has  drank  it. 
Mark  the  high-minded  tone  of  his  songs,  and  their  exquisite  moral, 

Giving  joy  to  the  cottage,  and  heightening  the  blaze  of  the  banquet. 
Now  the  future  grows  dark — see  the  spectacle  France  has  become  ! 

Mid  the  wreck  of  his  country,  the  poet,  undaunted  and  proud, 
To  the  public  complaints  shall  give  utterance:  slaves  may  be  dumb, 
But  he'll  ring  in  the  hearing  of  despots  defiance  aloud  ! " 
And  the  fairy  addressing 
My  grandfather,  somewhat  astonish'd. 
So  mildly  my  guardian  admonish'd. 
That  he  wept  while  he  vanish'd  awaj^  with  a  smile  and  a  blessing. 

Such  is  the  man  whose  works  will  form  the  most  enduring  monument  of  the 
literature  of  France  during  the  first  quarter  of  the  ninteenth  century.  It  is  the 
pride  of  my  old  age  to  have  recorded  in  these  "  papers  "  my  admiration  of  this 
(Extraordinary  writer;  and  when,  at  a  future  period,  commentators  and  critics 
will  feed  on  his  ever-verdant  pages,  and  disport  themselves  in  the  leaves  of  his 
immortal  poetry,  it  will  be  perhaps  mentioned  by  some  votary  of  recondite  lore, 
that  an  obscure  clergyman,  on  a  barren  Irish  hill,  made  the  first  effort  to  trans- 


The  Songs  of  France. 


203 


plant  hither  some  slips  of  that  luxuriant  tree;  though  he  fears  that,  like  the- 
"  mulberry,"  it  cannot  be  naturalized  in  these  island-,  and  must  stiil  continue 
to  form  the  exclusive  boast  and  pride  of  a  happier  climate. 

Next  to  the  songster-laureate  of  France,  posterity  will  hail  in  Victor  Hugo 
the  undoubted  excellence  of  original  thought,  and  the  gift  of  glowing  expres- 
sion. Before  these  two  lofty  minds  the  minor  poets,  Lamartine  and  (»;hateau- 
briand,  will  sink  into  comparative  insignificance.  Thus  Burns  and  Byron  will 
be  remembered  and  read  when  Bob  Montgomery  and  Haynes  Bayly  will  be 
swept  away  with  the  coteries  who  applauded  them.  "  Opinionum  com.menta 
delet  dies,"  quoth  the  undying  Tully  ;  "  naturae  judicia  confirmat."  But,  after 
,  all,  what  is  fame  ?  It  is  a  question  that  often  recurs  to  mc,  dwelling  frequentlv, 
in  sober  pensiveness,  on  the  hollow  futility  of  human  pursuits,  and  pondering 
on  the  narrow  extent  of  that  circle  which,  in  its  widest  possible  diffusion, 
renown  can  hope  to  fill  here  below.  Never  has  a  Pagan  writer  penned  a  period 
more  replete  with  Cliristian  philosophy,  and  more  calculated  to  make  a  deep 
impression  on  our  fellow-men,  in  the  hour  of  ambitious  yearning  after  worldly 
applause,  or  in  the  moment  of  disappointed  vanity,  than  the  splendid  passage 
which  memory  brings  me  here  in  tiie  natural  succession  of  serious  reflections 
that  crowd  on  my  mind  : — "  Igicur  alte  spectare  si  voles,  et  ajternam  domum 
contueri,  neque  te  sermonibus  vulgi  dederis,  neque  in  pra^miis  humanis  spem 
posueris  rerum  tuarum.  Quid  de  te  alii  loquantur,  ipsi  videant ;  loquentur 
tamen.  Sermo  autein  omnis  ille  et  angustiis  cingitur  lis  regionum  quas  vides ; 
nee  unquam  de  ullo  perennis  fuit ;  et  obruitur  hominum  interitu  ;  et  oblivione 
posteritatis  extinguitur  !  " — -Cic.  Som.  Scip. 

To  return  to  \'ictor  Hugo.  It  would  be  unpardonable  in  me  to  have  wririen 
a  series  of  papers  on  the  "Songs  of  France,  '  and  not  to  have  given  some 
specimens  of  his  refined  and  delicate  compositions.  Hugo  does  not  address 
himself  so  much  to  the  popular  capacity  as  his  energetic  contemporary  :  he  is 
a  scholar,  and  seeks  "fitting  audience,  though  few."  The  lyrical  pieces,  how- 
ever, which  I  here  subjoin,  will  be  felt  by  all  in  their  thrilling  appeal  to  our  most 
susceptible  sensibilities. 

Though  I  do  not  regret  the  space  I  have  devoted  to  the  beauties  of  Beranger, 
it  is  still  with  a  feeling  of  enibarrassment  that  I  bring  forward  thus  late,  and 
towards  the  close  of  my  lucubrations  on  this  interesting  subject,  so  deserving 
a  claimant  on  the  notice  of  the  public.  Be  that  as  it  may,  here  goes  !  and, 
gentle  reader,  thou  hast  before  thee  two  gems  of  the  purest  water.  The  first  is 
an  Oriental  emerald. 

LE  VOILE.     ORIENTALE. 

Victor  Hitgo. 
"  Avez-vous  fait  votre  prifere  ce  soir,  Desdemona?" — Shakespeare. 


LA    SCEUR. 

Qu'avez-vous,  qu'avez-vous,  mes  freres  ? 

Vous  baissez  des  fronts  soucieux  ; 
Comme  des  lampes  funeraires 

Vos  regards  brillent  dans  vos  yeu-x. 

Vos  ceintures  sont  dechirees  ! 

Deja  trois  fois  hors  de  I'etui, 
Sons  vos  doigts  a  demi  tirees, 

Les  lames  des  poignards  ont  lui. 

LE   FRERE   AIXE. 

N'avez-vous  pas  leve  votre  voile  aujourd' 
hui? 


L.\   SCEUR. 

Je  revenais  du  bain,  mes  freres  ; 

Seigneurs,  du  bain  je  revenais, 
Cachee  aux  regards  temeraires 

Des  Giaours  et  des  Albanais. 

En  passant  pres  de  la  mosquee, 
Dans  mon  palanquin  reconvert, 

L'air  de  midi  m'a  suffoquee, 

Mon  voile  un  instant  s'est  ouvert. 

LE    SECOXD    FRERE. 

Un  homme  alors  passait  ?  un  homme  en 
caftan  vert  ? 


204  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 


LA   SCEUR.  LA   SCEUK. 

Oui '— peut-etre— mais  son  audace  Grace  !  qu'ai-je  fait  ?    Grace  !  grace  ! 

N'a  pas  vii  mes  traits  devoiles.—  Dieu  !  quatre  poignards  dans  mon  tlanc  . 

Mais  vous  vous  parlez  a  voix  basse  !  Ah  !  par  vos  genoux  que  j  embrasse— 

A  voix  basse  vous  vous  parlez  !  Oh,  mon  voile  !  oh,  mon  voile  bianc  ! 

Vous  faut-il  du  sang  ?  sur  votre  ame,  Ne  fuyez  pas  mes  mains  qui  saignent, 

jNIes  frtjres,  il  n'a  pu  me  voir.  Mes  frferes,  soutenez  mes  pas  ! 

Grace  !     Tuerez-vous  une  femme,  Car  sur  mes  regards  qui  s  eteignent 

Foible  et  nue,  eri  votre  pouvoir?  S"e'tend  un  voile  de  trepas. 

LE   TROISIEME   FRERE.  LE   QUATRIEME   FRERE. 

Le  soleil  etait  rouge  a  son  coucher  ce  soir  !        C'en  est  un  que  du  moins  tu  ne  leveras 

pas  ! 

THE  VEIL.     AX   ORIENTAL  DIALOGUE. 

Victor  Hugo. 
"  Have  you  pray'd  to-night,  Desdemona?"—  Shakespeare. 

THE   SISTER. 

What  has  happen'd,  my  brothers?    Your  spirit  to-day 

Some  secret  sorrow  damps  : 
There's  a  cloud  on  your  brow.     What  has  happen'd?  oh,  say  ! 
For  your  eyeballs  glare  out  with  a  sinister  ray. 

Like  the  light  of  funeral  lamps. 

The  blades  of  your  poniards  are  half-unsheathed 

In  your  zone — and  ye  frown  on  me  ! 
There's  a  woe  untold,  there's  a  pang  unbreathed, 

In  your  bosom,  my  brothers  three  ! 

ELDEST    BROTHER. 

Gulnara,  make  answer  !     Hast  thou,  since  the  dawn. 
To  the  eye  of  a  stranger  thy  veil  withdrawn  ? 

THE   SISTER. 

As  I  came,  O  my  brothers  ! — at  noon — from  the  bath — 

As  I  came — it  was  noon — my  lords — ■ 
And  your  sister  had  then,  as  she  constantly  hath. 
Drawn  her  veil  close  around  her,  aware  that  the  path 

Is  beset  by  these  foreign  hordes. 

But  the  weight  of  the  noonday's  sultrj'  hour 

Near  the  mosque  was  so  oppressive, 
That — forgetting  a  moment  the  eye  of  the  Giaour — 

I  yielded  to  heat  excessive. 

SECOND    BROTHER. 

Gulnara,  make  answer  !     Whom,  then,  hast  thou  seen. 
In  a  turban  of  white,  and  a  caftan  of  green  ? 

THE    SISTER. 

Nay,  he  might  have  been  there  ;  but  I  muffled  me  so. 

He  could  scarce  have  seen  my  figure. 

But  why  to  your  sister  thus  dark  do  you  grow? 
What  word:<  to  yourselves  do  you  mutter  thus  low 

Of  "  blood,"  and  "  an  intriguer?" 


TJie  Songs  of  France. 


205 


Oh  !  ye  cannot  of  murder  bring  down  the  red  guilt 
On  your  souls,  my  brothers,  surely  ! 

Though  I  fear— from  your  hand  that  I  see  on  the  hilt. 
And  the  hints  you  give  obscurely. 


THIRD    BROTHER. 


Gulnara  !  this  evening  when  sank  the  red  sun, 

Hast  thou  mark'd  how  like  blood  in  descending  it  shone  ? 

THE    SISTER. 

Mercy  !  Allah  !  three  daggers  !  have  pity  !  oh,  spare  ! 

See  !  I  cling  to  your  knees  repenting  ! 
Kind  brothers,  forgive  me  !  for  mercy,  forbear  ! 
Be  appeased  at  the  voice  of  a  sister's  despair. 

For  your  mother's  sake  relenting. 

O  God  !  must  I  die?    They  are  deaf  to  my  cries  ! 

Their  sister's  life-blood  shedding  : 
They  have  stabb'd  me  again— and  T  faint— o'er  my  eyes 

A  Veil  of  Death  is  spreading  !^ 

ELDEST    BROTHER. 

Gulnara,  farewell  !  take  that  veil ;  'tis  the  gift 
Of  thy  brothers— a  veil  thou  w:h  never  lift  ! 

Hugo,  in  this  Eastern  scene,  as  well  as  in  his  glorious  romance  of  "  Notre 
Dame  de  Paris,"  seems  to  take  delight  m  harrowing  up  our  feelings  by  the 
invariably  sad  catastrophe  of  all  his  love  adventures.  The  chord  of  sympathy 
for  broken  affections  and  shattered  hearts  seems  to  be  a  favourite  one  with  this 
mighty  master  of  the  Gallic  lyre,     Ex.  gr. : 


LA  FIANXEE  DU  TIMBALIER.        THE   BRIDE   OF  THE   CYMBALEER. 


Vz'ctor  Hiigo. 

Monseigneur,  le  Due  de  Bretagne, 

A  pour  les  combats  meutriers, 
Convoque  de  Xante  a  Mortagne, 
Dans  la  plaine,  et  sur  la  campagne, 
Larriere-ban  de  ses  guerriers. 

Ce  sont  des  barons,  dont  les  armes 

Ornent  des  forts  ceints  d'un  fosse, 
Des  preux  vieillis  dans  les  alarmes, 
Des  ecuyers,  des  hommes  d'armes — 
L'un  d'entre  eux  est  mon  fiance. 

II  est  parti  pour  I'Aquitaine 

Comme  timbalier,  et  pourtant 
On  le  prend  pour  un  capitaine, 
Rien  qu'a  voir  sa  mine  hautaine, 
Et  son  pourpoint  d'or  eclatant. 

Depiiis  ce  jour  I'effroi  m'agite  ; 

J'ai  dit,  joignant  son  sort  au  mien, 
"  Ma  patronne,  Sainte  Brigitte, 
Pour  que  jamais  il  ne  le  quitte, 

Surveillez  son  ange  gardien  !  " 

J'ai  dit  a  notre  abbe,  "  Messire, 

Priez  bien  pour  tous  nos  soldats  ! " 
Et  comme  on  s?ait  qu'il  le  desire, 
J'ai  brule  trois  cierges  de  cire 
Sur  la  chasse  de  Saint  Gildas. 


A  Ballad. 

My  liege,  the  Duke  of  Brittany, 
Has  summon'd  his  vassals  all. 

The  list  is  a  lengthy  litany  ! 

Nor  'mong  them  shall  ye  meet  any 
But  lords  of  land  and  hall. 

Barons,  who  dwell  in  donjon-keep. 
And  mail-clad  count  and  peer. 

Whose  fief  is  fenced  with  fosse  deep  ; 

But  none  excel  in  soldiership 
My  own  loved  cymbaleer. 

Clashing  his  cymbals  forth  he  went. 
With  a  bold  and  gallant  bearing  ; 
Sure  for  a  captain  he  was  meant. 
To  judge  from  his  accoutrement, 
And  ^he  cloth  of  gold  he's  wearing. 

But  in  my  soul  since  then  I  feel 

A  fear,  in  secret  creeping  ; 
And  to  Saint  Bridget  oft  I  kneel. 
That  she  may  recommend  his  \yeal 
To  his  guardian  angel's  keeping. 

I've  begged  our  abbot,  Bemardine, 

His  prayers  not  to  relax;  _ 
And,  to  procure  him  aid  divine, 
I've  burnt  upon  Saint  Gilda's  shrine 
Three  pounds  of  virgin  wax. 


205 


The  Works  of  Fatlur  Prout. 


A  Xotre  Dame  de  Lorette 

J'ai  promis,  dans  mon  noir  chagrin, 
D'attacher  sur  ma  gorgerette, 
Fermee  a  la  vue  indiscrette, 

Les  coquilles  du  pelerin.  \ 

II  n'a  pu,  par  d'amoureux  gages. 
Absent,  consoler  mes  foyers  ; 

Pour  porter  les  tendres  messages 

La  vassale  n'a  point  de  pages, 
Le  vassal  n'a  point  d'ecuyeis. 

II  doit  aujourd'hui  de  la  guerre 
Revenir  avec  monseigneur — 

Ce  n'est  plus  un  amant  vulgaire  ; 

Je  leve  un  front  baisse  naguere, 
Et  mon  orgueil  est  du  bonheur. 

Le  due  triomphant,  nous  rapporta 

Son  drapeau  dans  les  camps  froisse  ; 
Venez  tous,  sous  la  vieille  porte. 
Voir  passer  la  brillante  escorte, 
Et  le  prince  et  mon  fiance  ! 

Venez  voir,  pour  ce  jour  de  fete. 

Son  cheval  caparacone  ; 
Qui  sous  son  poids  hennit,  s'arrete, 
Et  marche  en  secouant  la  tete, 

De  plumes  rouges  couronne. 


Mes  sosurs,  a  vous  parer  trop  lentes, 
Venez  voir,  pres,  de  mon  vainqueur, 

Ces  timbales  etincelantes 

Qui,  sous  sa  main  toujours  tremblantes, 
Sonnent,  et  font  bondir  le  coeur. 

Venez  surtout  le  voir  lui-meme, 
Sous  le  manteau  que  j'ai  brode  1 

Qu'il  sera  beau  !     C'est  lui  que  j'aime  ; 

II  porte  comme  un  diademe 
Son  casque  de  crins  inondes  ! 

L'Egy'ptienne  sacrilege, 

JM'attirant  derriere  un  pilier, 

M'a  dit  bien  (Dieu  me  protege  I) 

Qu'a  la  fanfare  du  cortege 
II  manquerait  un  timbalier. 

Mais  j'ai  tant  prie  que  j'espere, 

Quoique,  me  montrant  de  la  main 
Uii  sepulcre,  son  noir  repaire. 
La  \ieille,  aux  regards  de  vipere, 
'         M'ait  dit  je  I'attends  la  demain. 

Volons  !  plus  de  noires  pensees ! 

Ce  sont  les  tambours  que  j'entends  ! 
Voici  les  dames  entasse'es, 
Les  tentes  de  pourpre  dressees, 

Les  fleurs  et  les  drapeaux  flottans  ! 

Sur  deux  rangs  le  cortege  ondoie  : 
D'abord,  les  piquiers  aux  pas  lourds  ; 

Puis,  sous  I'etendard  qu'on  deploie, 

Les  barons,  en  robes  de  soie, 
Avec  leurs  toques  de  velours. 


Our  Lady  of  Loretto  knov.-s 

The  pilgrima'ge  I  vow'd  ; 
"  To  wear  the  scollop  I  propose, 
Jf  health  afid  safety  frojn  the  foes 

yiy  lover  is  allow' d." 

Xo  letter  (fond  affection's  gage  !) 

From  him  could  I  require,    . 
The  pain  of  absence  to  assuage — ■ 
A  vassal-maid  can  have  no  page, 

A  liegeman  has  no  squire. 

This  day  will  witness,  with  the  duke's, 

My  cymbaleer's  return  : 
Gladness  and  pride  beam  in  my  looks. 
Delay  my  heart  impatient  brooks. 

All  meaner  thoughts  I  spurn. 

Back  from  the  battle-field  elate. 

His  banner  brings  each  peer  ; 
Come,  let  us  see,  at  the  ancient  gate. 
The  martial  triumph  pass  in  state, 

And  the  duke  and  ray  cymbaleer. 

We'll  see  from  the  rampart-walls  of  Nantz 
What  an  air  his  horse  assumes ; 

His   proud  neck  swells,   his  glad    hoofs 
prance. 

And  on  his  head  unceasing  dance. 
In  a  gorgeous  tuft,  red  plumes  I 

Be  quick,  my  sisters  !  dress  in  haste  I 

Come,  see  him  bear  the  bell. 
With  laurels  deck'd,  with  true-love  graced  ; 
While  in  his  bold  hand,  fitly  placed. 

The  bounding  cymbals  swell ! 

Mark  well  the  mantle  that  he'll  wear, 

Embroider'd  by  'ni.s  bride  : 
Admire  his  bumish'd  helmet's  glare, 
O'ershadow'd  by  the  dark  horsehair 

That  waves  in  jet  folds  wide  ! 

The  gipsy  (spiteful  wench  !)  foretold 

With  voice  like  a  viper  hissing, 
(Though  I  had  cross'd  her  palm  with  gold.) 
That  from  the  ranks  a  spirit  bold 
Would  be  to-day  found  missing. 

But  I  have  pray'd  so  hard,  I  trust 

Her  words  may  prove  untrue  ; 
Though  in  her  cave  the  hag  accurst 
Mutter'd  ^'Prepare  thee  for  tlie  worst ! " 
With  a  face  of  ghastly  hue. 

My  joy  her  spells  shall  not  prevent. 

Hark  I  I  can  hear  the  drums. 
And  ladies  fair  from  silken  tent 
Peep  forth,  and  ever>-  eye  is  bent 

On  the  cavalcade  that  comes  ! 

Pikemen,  dividing  on  both  flanks. 

Open  the  pageantrA-; 
Loud,  as  they  tread,  their  armour  clanks. 
And  silk-robed  barons  lead  the  ranks. 

The  pink  of  gallantry  I 


Voici  les  chasubles  des  pretres  ; 

Les  herauts  sur  un  blanc  coursier  ; 
Tous,  en  souvenir  des  ancetres. 
Portent  I'ecusson  de  leurs  maitres 

Peint  sur  leur  corselet  d'acier. 

Admirez  I'armure  Persanne 

Des  Templiers,  craints  de  I'enfer  ; 
Et,  sous  la  longue  p)ertuisane, 
Les  archers  velus  de  Lausanne, 
Vetus  de  buffle,  armes  de  fer. 

Le  due  n'est  pas  loin  :  ses  bannieres 

Flottent  parmi  les  chevaliers  ; 
Quelques  enseignes  prisonnieres, 
Honteuses,  passent  les  demieres. 
Mes  scEurs  !  voici  les  timbaliers  I  " 

Elle  dit,  et  sa  vue  errante 

Plonge,  helas  I  dans  les  rangs  presses  ; 
Puis,  dans  la  foule  indifferente 
Elle  tomba,  froide  et  mourante  I — 

Les  tbiibaliers  etaient  passes. 


In  scarfs  of  gold,  the  priests  admire  ; 

The  heralds  on  white  steeds; 
Armorial  pride  decks  their  attire, 
Worn  in  remembrance  of  a  sire 

Eamed  for  heroic  deeds. 

Fear'd  by  the  Paynim's  dark  divan, 

1  he  Templars  next  advance  ; 
Then  the  brave  bowmen  of  Lausanne, 
Foremost  to  stand  in  battle's  van. 

Against  the  foes  of  France. 

Next  ccmes  the  duke  with  radiant  brow. 

Girt  with  his  cavaliers  ; 
Round  his  triumphant  banner  bow 
Those  of  the  foe.     Look,  sisters,  now  ! 

Now  come  the  cymbaleers  ! 

She  spoke — with  searching  eye  survey'd 
'I'heir  ranks — then  pale,  aghast. 
Sunk  in  the  crowd  !     Death  came  in  aid — 
'  X  was  mercy  to  that  gentle  maid  : 
Tlie  cymbaleers  had  pass'  d  1 


By  way  of  contrast  to  the  Gothic  reminiscences  of  the  oMen  time,  and  the 
sentimental  delicacy  of  the  foregoing  ballad,  1  subjoin  a  modern  description  of 
Gallic  chivalry,— a  poetical  sketch  of  contemporary  heroism.  Nothing  can  be 
more  striking  than  the  change  which  seems  to  have  come  over  the  spirit  of  the 
military  dreams  of  the  French  since  the  days  of  Lancelot  and  Bayard,  if  we 
aretoadopt  this  as  an  anthentic  record  of  their  present  sentiments  in  matters  of 
gallantry.  I  cannot  tell  who  the  author  or  authoress  of  the  following  dithyramb 
may  be  ;  but  I  have  taken  it  down  as  I  have  heard  it  sung  by  a  fair  girl  who 
would  sometimes  condescend  to  indulge  an  old  ccllbatairc  with  a  snatch  of 
merry  music. 

LA  CARRIERE  MILITAIRE.      THE  MILITARY  PROFESSION. 


E}i  France. 

Ah,  le  bel  etat  ! 

Que  I'etat  de  soldat ! 
Eattre,  aimer,  chanter,*  et  boire — 
Voila  toute  notre  histoire  ! 

Et,  ma  foi, 

Moi  je  crois 
Que  cet  etat-la  vaut  bien 
Celui  de  tant  de  gens  qui  ne  font  rien 


Vainqueurs,  entrons-nous  dans  une  ville  ? 

Les  autorites  et  les  habiians 
Nous  viennent.  d'une  fa?on  fort  civile, 
Ou\-rir  les  portes  a  deux  battans  : 
C'est  tout  au  plus  s'ils  sont  contens  ; 
Mais  c'est  tout  de  meme — ■ 
II  faut  qu'on  nous  aime — 
Ran,  tan,  plan  I 
Ou  bien  qu'on  fasse  semblant. 
Puis  quand  vient  le  clair  de  lune, 
Chacun  choisit  sa  chacune, 
En  qualite  de  conquerant. 
Ran,  tan,  plan  ! 
Ah,  le  bel  etat,  etc. 


In  France. 

Oh,  the  pleasant  life  a  soldier  leads  ! 
Let  the  lawyer  count  his  fees. 
Let  old  women  tell  their  beads. 
Let  each  booby  squire  breed  cattle,  if  he 
please. 
Far  better  'tis,  I  think, 
To  make  love,  fight,  and  drink. 
Odds  boddekin  I 
Such  life  makes  a  man  to  a  god  akin. 

Do  we  enter  any  town  ? 
The  portcullis  is  let  down, 
And  the  joy-bells  are  rung  by  municipal 
authority- ; 
The  gates  are  open'd  wide. 
And  the  city-keys  presented  us  beside, 
Merely  to  recognize  our  vast  superiority. 
The  married  citizens,  'tis  ten  to  one. 
Would  wish  us  fairly  gone  ; 
But  we  stay  while  it  suits  our  good  plea- 
sure. 
Then  each    eve,  at    the  rising  of    the 

moon. 
The  fiddler  strikes  up  a  merr^'  tune. 
We  meet  a  buxom  partner  full  soon, 
And  we  foot  it  to  a  militarj'  measure. 

{Chonts  of  dy-jnns. 


208                    The  Works  of 

1 

Father  Proiit. 

Mais  c'est  quand  nous  quittons  la  ville 

WTien  our  garrison  at  last  gets  "  the  rout," 

Qu'il  faut  voir  I'effet  des  adieux  ; 

Who  can  adequately  tell 

Et  toutes  les  femmes  a  la  file 

The  regret  of  the  fair  al'  the  citj-  through- 

Se lamenter  a  qui  mieux,  mieux — 

out, 

C'est  une  ri\'iere  que-  leurs  yeux. 

And  the  tone  w-ith  which  they  bid  us 

"  Reviens  ten  bien  vite  I" 

" fareivell '<  " 

Oui  da.  ma  petite  1 

Their  tears  would  make  a  flood— a  perfect 

Le  plus  souvent, 

river : 

Le  plus  souvent, 

And,  to  soothe  her  despair. 

Je  ne  suis  pas  pour  le  sentiment. 

Each  disconsolate  maid  entreats  of  us  to 

Ran,  tan,  plan  ! 

give  her. 

Vive  le  regiment ! 

Ere  we  go,  a  single  lock  of  our  hair. 

Alas  I  it  is  not  often 

That  mj-  heart  can  soften 

Responsive  to  the  feelings  of  the  fair  ! 

{CJwrus  of  drums. 

Et  puis  lorsqu'en  maraude, 

On  a  march,  when  our  gallant  divisions 

Chacun  rode  alentour  ; 

In  the  country  make  a  halt, 

On  va,  le  sabre  a  la  main,  en  fraude. 

Think  not  that  we  limit  our  provisions 

Faire  la  chasse  a  la  basse-cour. 

To  Paddy's  fare,  "potatoes  and  salt." 

Faut  bien  que  chaque  \ictime  ait  son  tour— 

Could  such  beggarly  cheer 

Poulles  innocentes  ! 

Ever  answer  a  French  grenadier? 

Interessantes  ! 

No  1  we  send  a  dragoon  guard 

Sans  retour  I  sans  retour  ! 

To  each  neighbouring  farm-yard. 

Helas  I  voila  votre  dernier  jour  ! 

To  collect  the  thoicest  pickings — 

Ran,  tan.  plan  ! 

Turkeys,  sucking-pigs,  and  chickens. 

Cot !  cot  !  cot  !  la  sentinelle 

For  why  should  mere  rustic  rapscallions 

Vous  appele  ! 

Fatten  on  such  tit-bits. 

Elles  passent  la  tete  et  caquetant. 

Better  suited  to  the  spits 

Et  s'en  vont  a  la  broche  du  regiment. 

Of  our  hungry'  and  valorous  battalions  ? 

Puis,  a  notre  retour  en  France, 

But,  oh  !  at  our  return 

Chaque  village,  en  goguette,  en  danse, 

To  our  dear  native  France, 

Nous  recoit.  coeur  et  tambour  battans — 

Each  village  in  its  turn. 

Tic,  tac,  ran,  tan,  plan  ! 

With  music,  and  wine,  and  merry  dance, 

En  I'honneur  du  regiment. 
Ah,  le  bel  etat  ! 
Que  I'etat  de  soldat ! 


Forth  on  our  jojTul  passage  comes  ; 
And  the  pulse  of  each  heart  beats  time  to 
the  drums. 

ICJwnis  of  drjims. 
Oh,  the  merr>-  life  a  soldier  leads  ! 


But  my  page  is  filling  fast,  and  my  appointed  measure  is  nearly  replenished. 
Adieu,  then,  to  the  "  Songs  of  France  !  "  Reminiscences  of  my  5'ounger  life  ! 
traditions  of  poetic  Gaul  !  language  of  impassioned  feeling  !  cultivated  elegance 
of  ideas  and  imagery  !  bold,  gay,  fantastic  picturings  of  social  existence  ! — 
farewell  !  You  have  been  to  me  the  source  of  much  enjoyment,  much  mental 
lu.\ury,  much  intellectual  revelry, — farewell !  Yet  still,  like  Ovid  quitting  Rome 
for  Scythia  — 

"  .Sa;pe  vale  dicens,  multtim  sum  deinde  locutus, 
Et  quasi  discedens  oscula  summa  dedi  : 
Indulgent  animo,  pes  mihi  tardus  erat " — 

loth  to  depart,  I  have  once  more  opened  the  volume  of  the  enchanter,  and 
must  indulge  myself  in  a  last  lingering  look  at  one— perhaps  the  loftiest  of 
Berangers  lays.  It  is  addressed  by  him  to  a  fair  incognita;  but  in  my  version, 
I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  giving  a  more  intelligible  and,  I  fear  notjto  add,; 
more  appropriate  direction  to  the  splendid  allegory. 


The  Songs  of  France.  209 

L'ANGE    EXILE. 

A  Corinne  de  /,******. 

Je  veux  pour  vous  prendre  un  ton  moins  frivole, 

Corinne  !   il  fut  des  anges  revokes  : 
Dieu  sur  leur  front  fait  tomber  sa  parole, 

Et  dans  I'abime  ils  sont  precipites. 
Doux,  mais  fragile,  un  seul  dans  leur  ruine, 

Centre  ses  maux  garde  un  puissant  secours, 
II  reste  arme  de  sa  lyre  divine — ■ 

Ange  aux  yeux  bleus,  protegez-moi  toujours  ! 

L'enfer  mugit  d'un  effroyable  rire, 

Quand,  degovite  de  I'orgueil  des  medians, 
L'ange,  qui  pleure  ea  accordant  sa  lyre. 

Fait  eclater  ses  remords  et  ses  chants. 
Dieu  d'un  regard  I'arrache  au  gouffre  immonde, 

IMais  ici  bas  veut  quil  charme  nos  jours  ; 
La  Poesie  enivrera  le  monde — 

Ange  aux  yeux  bleus,  protegez-moi  toujours  ! 

Vers  nous  il  vole,  en  secouant  ses  ailes. 

Comma  I'oiseau  que  Forage  a  mouille  ; 
Soudain  la  terre  entend  des  voix  nouvelles, 

Maint  peuple  errant,  s"arrete  emerveille. 
Tout  culte  alors  n'etait  que  Tharmonie — 

Aux  cieux  jamais  Dieu  ne  dit,  "  Soyez  sourds  !" 
L'autel  s'epure  aux  parfums  du  genie  ! —  _ 

Ange  aux  yeux  bleus,  protegez-moi  toujours  ! 

En  vain  l'enfer,  des  clameurs  de  I'envie, 

Poursuit  cet  ange,  echappe  de  ces  rangs  ; 
De  I'homme  inculte  il  adoucit  la  vie, 

Et  sous  le  dais  montre  au  doigt  les  t^Tans. 
Tandis  qua  tout  sa  voix  pretant  des  charmes, 

Court  jusqu'au  pole  eveiller  les  amours  : 
Dieu  compte  au  ciel  ce  qu'il  seche  de  larmes  I — 

Ange  aux  yeux  bleus,  protegez-moi  toujours  ! 

Qui  pent  me  dire  oil  luit  son  aureole  ? 

De  son  exil  Dieu  I'a-t-il  rappele  ? 
IMais  vous  chantez,  mais  votre  voix  console — 

Corinne,  en  vous  l'ange  s'est  devoile  ! 
Votre  printems  veut  des  fieurs  eternelles, 

Votre  beaute  de  celestes  atours  ; 
Pour  un  long  vol  vous  deployez  vos  ailes  !_ — 

Ange  aux  yeux  bleus,  protegez-moi  toujours  3 

THE  ANGEL   OF   POETRY. 

To  L.  E.  L. 

Lady  !  for  thee  a  holier  key  shall  harmonize  the  chord  — 
In  Heaven's  defence  Omnipotence  drew  an  avenging  sword  ; 
But  when  the  bolt  had  crush'd  revolt,  one  angel,  fair  though  frail, 
Retain'd  his  lute,  fond  attribute  !  to  charm  that  gloomy  vale. 
The  Ivre  he  kept  his  wild  hand  swept  ;  the  music  he"d  awaken 
Would  sweetly  thrill  ironi  the  lonely  hill  where  he  sat  apart  forsaken  : 
There  he'd  lament  his  banishment,  his  thoughts  to  grief  abandon. 
And  weep  his  full.     'Twas  pitiful  to  see  him  weep,  fair  Landon  I 


210  The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


He  wept  his  fault  I     Hell's  gloomy  vault  grew  vocal  with  his  song ; 
But  all  throughout  derision's  shout  burst  from  the  guilty  throng  : 
God  pitying  view'd  his  fortitude  in  that  vmhallow'd  den  ; 
Freed  him  from  hell,  but  bade  him  dwell  amid  the  sons  of  men. 
Lady  I  for  us,  an  exile  thus,  immortal  Poesy 
Came  upon  earth,  and  lutes  gave  birth  to  sweetest  minstrelsy ; 
And  poets  wrought  their  spellwords,  taught  by  that  angelic  mind, 
And  music  lent  soft  blandishment  to  fascinate  mankind. 

Religion  rose  !  man  sought  repose  in  the  shadow  of  her  wings ; 
Music  for  her  waik'd  harbinger,  and  Genius  touch'd  the  strings  : 
Tears  from  the  tree  of  Araby  cast  on  her  altar  bum'd, 
Lut  earth  and  wave  most  fragrance  gave  where  Poetry  sojoum'd. 
\'ainly,  with  hate  inveterate,  hell  labour'd  in  its  rage, 
To  persecute  that  angel's  lute,  and  cross  his  pilgrimage  ; 
Unmoved  and  calm,  his  songs  pour'd  balm  on  sorrow  all  the  while ; 
^'ice  he  unmask'd,  but  virtue  bask'd  in  the  radiance  of  his  smile. 

O  where,  among  the  fair  and  young,  or  in  what  kingly  court, 
In  what  gay  path  where  Pleasure  hath  her  favourite  resort,  _ 
Where  hast'  thou  gone,  angelic  one  ?     Back  to  thy  native  skies  ? 
Or  do.~t  thou  dwel   in  cloister'd  cell,  in  pensive  hermit's  guise? 
^lethinks  I  ken  a  denizen  of  this  our  island — nay, 
Leave  me  to  guess,  fair  poetess  !  queen  of  the  matchless  lay  ! 
The  thrilling  line,  lady  !  is  thine  ;  the  spirit  pure  and  free  ; 
And  England  views  that  angel  muse,  Landon  1  reveal'd  in  thee  ! 


XL 

®Ij^  Songs  iDf  ^hh. 

{Fraser's  Magazine,  February,  1835.) 


[Mahony's  first  batch  of  the  Songs  of  Italy  appeared  in  the  number  of  Fraser 
containing  Croquis'  capital  sketch  of  "Yours  ratherish  unwell"  Charles  Lamb.  The 
Author  of  "  Elia  "  in  this  wonderfully  characteristic  portrait  of  him  was  represented  as 
seated  at  a  table  eagerly  leaning  forward,  over  one  or  two  of  his  "  midnight  darlings," 
the  ponderous  folio  he  was  employed  in  reading  having  upon  either  side  of  it  a  candle, 
while  at  his  elbow,  handily  within  reach,  were  not  only  tumbler  and  spoon,  but  a  bottle 
with  a  rakish  cork,  cocked  sidevvise.  Under  the  table,  one  took  note  of  what  Hood 
dubbed  the  essayist's  "  immaterial  legs,"  slenderly  black-gaitered,  and  above  it  of  the 
finely-cut  profile,  and  the  noble  head  Leigh  Hunt  likened  to  that  of  Aristotle.  By  way 
of  embellishment  to  this  particular  paper  from  the  hand  of  Prout,  when  it  came  to  be 
republished  m  the  following  year  with  the  rest  of  the  collected  "Reliques,"  Maclise  pen- 
cilled by  way  of  tailpiece  to  the  chapter  "  The  Wine  Cup  Bespoken,"  a  classic  tazza, 
revealing  on  it  in  alto-relievo  Silenus  with  his  attendant  nymphs  and  satyrs,  the  sculp- 
tured vase  garlanded  about  with  purple  grape-bunches  and  vine-leaves.] 


.  CHAPTER  I. 

*'  Latilis  opinione  disseminatum  est  hoc  malum  :  manavit  non  solum  per  Galliam,  sed 
ctiam  transcendit  Alpes,  et  obscure  serpens  multas  jam  provincias  occupavit." 

Cicero  in  Catilina7n,  Or.  IV 

Starting  from  France,  across  Mount  Cenis, 
Prout  visits  Mantua  and  Venice  ; 
Through  many  a  tuneful  province  strolls, 
"  Smit  with  the  love  "  of  barcarolles. 
Petrarca's  ghost  he  conjures  up. 
And  with  old  Dante  quaffs  a  cup ; 
Next,  from  her  jar  Etruscan,  he 
"Uncorks  the  muse  of  Tuscany.  O.  Y. 

From  the  contents  of  "  the  chest  "  hitherto  put  forth  by  us  to  the  gaze  of  a 
discriminating  public,  the  sagacious  glance  of  the  critic,  unless  his  eye  happen 
to  be  somehow  "  by  drop  serene  or  dim  suffusion  veiled,"  must  have  scanned 
pretty  accurately  the  peculiar  cast  and  character  of  old  Prout's  genius.  Though 
somewhat  "Protean"  and  multiform,  delighting  to  make  his  posthumous 
appearance  in  a  diversity  of  fanciful  shapes,  he  is  still  discoverable  by  certain 
immutable  features;  and  the  identity  of  mind  and  purpose  reveals  itself 
throughout  this  vast  variety  of  manifestation.      An  attentive  perusal  of  his 


2 1 2  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 

"Papers"  (of  which  we  have  now  drawn  forth  eleven,  hoping  next  month 
to  crack  the  last  botrle  of  the  sparkling  dozen)  will  enable  the  reader  to  detect 
the  secret  workings  of  his  spirit,  and  discover  the  "  bee's  wing"  in  the  tran- 
sparent decanter  of  his  soul.  Prout's  candour  and  frankness,  his  bold, 
fearless  avowal  of  each  inward  conviction,  his  contempt  for  quacks  and 
pedants,  his  warm  admiration  of  disinterested  patriotism  and  intellectual 
originality,  cannot  but  be  recogriized  throughout  his  writings  :  he  is  equally 
enthusiastic  in  his  predilections,  and  stanch  in  his  antipathies.  Of  his  classical 
namesake,  Proteus,  it  has  been  observed  by  Virgil,  that  there  was  no  catching 
him  in  any  definite  or  tangible  form  ;  as  he  constantly  shifted  his  position,  and, 
with  the  utmost  violation  of  consistency,  became  at  turns  "a  pig,"  "  a  tiger," 
or  "  a  serpent,"  to  suit  the  whirn  of  the  moment  or  the  scheme  of  the  hour  : 

"  Fiet  enim  subito  sus  horridus,  atrave  tigrls, 
Squamosusve  draco."  Georgic.  IV. 

But  in  all  the  impersonations  of  the  deceased  P.  P.  of  W'atergrasshill  the  man- 
is  never  lost  sight  of;  it  is  still  he,  whether  he  be  viewed  showing  his  tusks  to 
Tommy  Moore,  or  springing  hke  a  tiger  on  Dr.  Lardner's  wig,  or  lurking  like 
a  bottle-imp  in  Brougham's  brandy-flask,  or  coiled  up  like  a  rattle-snake  m  the 
begging-box  of  O'Connell. 

But  still  he  delights  to  tread  the  peaceful  paths  of  literature ;  and  it  is  then, 
indeed,  that  he  appears  in  his  proper  element.  Of  all  the  departments  of  that 
■interesting  province,  he  has  selected  the  field  of  popular  poetry  for  his  favourite 
haunt.  "  Smitten,"  like  old  Milton,"  tijith  the  love  of  sacred  song,"  he  lingers 
with  "fond,  reluctant,  amorous  delay,"  amid  the  tuneful  "  groves."  Ballad- 
singing  was  his  predominant  passion.  In  his  youth  he  had  visited  almost 
every  part  of  the  continent ;  and  though  not  unobservant  cf  other  matters,  nor 
unmindful  of  collateral  inquiries,  he  made  the  so?igs  of  each  country  the  object 
of  a  most  diligent  investigation.  Among  the  tenets  of  his  peripatetic 
philosophy,  he  had  adopted  a  singular  theor}-,  viz.  that  the  true  character  of  a 
people  must  be  collected  from  their  "songs."  Impressed  with  this  notion,  to 
use  the  words  of  the  immortal  Edmund  Burke,  "he  has  visited  all  Europe; 
not  to  survey  the  sumptuousness  of  palaces,  or  the  stateliness  of  temples ;  not 
to  make  accurate  measurement  of  the  remains  of  ancient  grandeur,  nor  to 
form  a  scale  of  the  curiosities  of  modern  art  ;  not  to  collect  medals,  or  to  col- 
late MSS.  :  but  to  pick  up  the  popular  tunes,  and  make  a  collection  of  song- 
books  ;  to  cull  from  the  minstrelsy  of  the  cottage,  and  select  from  the 
bacchanalian  joviality  of  the  vintage;  to  compare  and  collate  the  Tipperary 
bagpipe  with  the  Cremona  fiddle ;  to  remember  the  forgotten  and  attend  to 
the  neglected  ballads  of  foreign  nations;  and  to  blend  in  one  harmonious 
system  the  traditionary  songs  of  all  men  in  all  countries.  It  was  a  voyage  of 
discovery,  a  circunmavigation  of  melody." 

Lander  and  Mungo   Park  have  traced  the  course  of  the  Niger;   Bnice  and 
Belzoni  the  sources  of  the  Xile  ;  Sterne  joumeyed  in  pursuit  of  the  sentimental, 
Syntax  in  search  of  xYiq  picturesque ;  Eustace  made  a  "classical  "  tour  through 
Italy,   Bowring  an   "utilitarian"   excursion  through   France:  but  we  greatly 
miscalculate  if  the  public  do  not  prefer,  for  all  the  practical  purposes  of  life, 
Prout's  "  tuneful  '  pilgrimage.     Any  accession  to  the  general  stock  of  harmony, 
anything  to  break  the  monotonous  sameness  of  modern  literature,   must  be 
hailed  with  a  shout  of  welcome;   and  in  the  W'atergrassliill  chest  we  possess 
an  engine  of  melodious  power,  far  preferable  to  the  hackneyed  barrel-organ'^ 
that  lull  and  stultify  the  present  generation.     The  native  Irish  iiave  at  all  tin.' 
been  remarkable  for  a  keen  perception  of  musical  enjoyment,  and  it  therefi  r 
is  not  astonishing  that  the  charms  of  sweet  sound  should  have  so  fascinat' 
the  youtliful  mind  of  our  hero,  as  to  lead  him  captive  from  land  to  land- 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  213 

willing  slave,  chained  to  the  triumphal  chariot  of  Polyhymnia.  His  case  has 
been  graphically  put  by  a  modem  writer  (not  Hogg) — 

'*  \Mien  I  was  a  boy  in  my  father's  mud  edifice. 
Tender  and  bare  as  a  pig  in  a  st3', 
Out  of  the  door  as  I  look"d,  \%-ith  a  steady  phiz, 
\Mio  but  Thade  Murphj-  the  piper  went  by  ! 

*  Arrah,  Thady  I  the  drone  of  j-our  pipe  so  comes  over  me, 
Naked  I'll  wander  wherever  you  goes; 
And  if  my  poor  parents  should  want  to  discover  me. 
Sure  it  wont  be  by  describing  my  clothes  ! '" 

"  Joume}'ing  with  this  intent,"  our  excellent  di\'ine  (as  maybe  seen  in  the 
last  four  numbers  of  Regina)  hath  not  been  idle  in  France  ;  having  wreathed 
a  garland  of  song,  culled  where  those  posies  grew  wild  on  the  boulevards  of 
Paris,  the  fields  of  Xormaud}-,  and  the  fragrant  hills  of  Provence — land  of 
troubadours.  We  have  now  to  follow  him  through  other  scenes  :  to  view  him 
seated  in  a  gondola,  and  gliding  under  the  "  Bridge  of  Sighs  ;  "  or  wandering 
on  the  banks  of  the  Po  ;  or  treading,  with  pensive  step,  the  Miltonic  glen  of 
Vallombrosa.  Each  guardian  spirit  of  that  hallowed  soil,  each  X\xx€izxy  genius 
loci,  the  drj-ades  of  the  grove  and  the  naiades  of  the  flood,  exult  at  the 
approach  of  so  worthy  a  visitant,  sent  with  a  special  mission  on  an  errand  of 
the  loftiest  consequences,  and  gifted  with  a  soul  equal  to  the  mighty  task  ;  a 
modem  by  birth,  but  an  old  Roman  in  sentiment — 

"  Redonavit  Quirltem 
Dis  patriis  Italoque  coelo !  " — Hor.  lib.  ii,  ode  7. 

It  has  been  the  misfortune  of  that  beautiful  peninsula,  ever  since  the  decline 
and  fall  of  the  Roman  empire,  to  have  been  invaded  by  a  succession  of 
barbarians  from  the  North.  Longobards  and  Ostrogoths,  Alaric  and  Genseric, 
Sam  Rogers  and  Frederick  Barbarossa,  AtiUa  king  of  the  Huns,  and  Leigh 
Hunt  king  of  the  Cockneys,  have  already  spread  havoc  and  consternation 
through  that  delightful  countrj-;  but  the  vilest  and  most  unjustifiable  invasion 
of  Italy  has  been  perpetrated  by  Lady  Morgan.  We  know  not  to  what  extent 
impunity  may  be  claimed  by  "  the  sex,"  for  running  riot  and  playing  the  devil 
with  places  and  things  consecrated  by  the  recollections  of  all  that  is  noble  in 
our  nature,  and  exalted  in  the  history  of  mankind  ;  but  we  suppose  that  her 
Irish  ladyship  is  privileged  to  carry  on  her  literar}'  orgies  in  the  face  of  the 
public,  like  her  fair  countrywoman,  Lady  Barrymore,  of  smashmg  notoriety. 
Heaven  knows,  she  has  often  enough  been  "  pulled  up  "  before  the  tribunals  of 
witticism  for  her  misdemeanours  ;  still,  we  find  her  repeating  her  old  offences 
with  incorrigible  pertinacity, — and  Belgium  is  now  the  scene  of  her  pranks. 
She  moreover  continues  to  besprinkle  her  pages  with  Italian,  of  which  she 
knows  about  as  much  as  of  the  language  of  the  Celestial  Empire ;  for,  let  her 
take  our  word  for  it,  that,  however  acquainted  she  may  possibly  be  with  the 
"  Cruiskeen  lawn,"  she  has  but  a  verj-  shght  intimacy  with  the  "  Vocabulario 
della  Crusca." 

OLIVER  YORKE. 

Feb.  I,  1835.  

Watergrasshill,  Feb.  1830. 

During  these  long  wintry  nights,  while  the  blast  howls  dismally  outside  this 
mountain-shed,  and  all  the  boisterous  elements  of  destruction  hold  a  "  radical  " 
meeting  on  yonder  bog, — seated  before  a  snug  turf-fire,  and  having  duly 
conned  over  the  day's  appointed  portion  of  the  Roman  breviary,  I  love  to 


214  ^^^'^   Works  of  Father  Front. 

give  free  scope  to  my  youthful  recollections,  and  wander  back  in  spirit  to  those 
sunny  lands  where  I  spent  my  early  years.  Memory  is  the  comforter  of  old 
age,  as  Hope  is  the  guardian-angel  of  youth  : — the  emblematic  aiicho)-,  which 
antiquity  has  given  but  to  one,  ought  in  my  mind  to  be  equally  the  symbol  of 
both.  To  me  my  past  life  seems  a  placid,  a  delightful  dream  ;  and  I  trust  that 
when  I  shall,  at  no  distant  moment,  hear  the  voice  which  will  bid  me  "  awake' 
to  the  consciousness  of  enduring  realities,  and  the  enjoyment  of  immortal 
existence,  memory  still  may  remain  to  enhance,  if  possible,  the  fruition  of 
beatitude. 

But  a  truce  to  these  solemn  fancies,  which,  no  doubt,  have  been  suggested  to 
my  mind  by  those  homilies  cf  Chrysostom  and  soliloquies  of  Augustin  which  I 
have  just  now  been  perusing,  in  this  day's  office  of  our  ancient  liturgy.  And 
to  resume  the  train  of  ideas  with  which  I  commenced,  a  few  minutes  ago,  this 
paper  of  "  nigbt-ihoughts," — -gladly  do  I  recur  to  the  remembrance  of  that 
fresh  and  active  period  of  my  long  career,  when,  buoyant  with  juvenile  energy, 
and  flushed  with  life's  joyous  anticipations,  I  passed  from  the  south  of  France 
into  the  luxuriant  lap  of  Italy.  Full  sixty  years  now  have  elapsed  since  I  first 
crossed  the  Alpine  frontier  of  that  enchanting  province  of  Europe;  but  the 
image  of  all  I  saw,  and  the  impression  of  all  I  felt,  remains  indelible  in  my 
soul.  My  recollections  of  gay  France  are  lively  and  vivid,  yet  not  so  deeply 
imprinted,  nor  so  glowingly  distinct,  as  the  picturings  which  an  Italian  sojourn 
has  left  on  the  "tablets  of  memory."  I  cherish  both;  but  each  has  its  own 
peculiar  attributes,  features,  and  physioq^nomy.  The  spiritiicllc  Madame  de 
Sevigne  and  the  impassioned  Beatrice  Cenci  are  two  very  opposite  impersona- 
tions of  female  character,  but  they  pretty  accurately  represent  the  notion  I 
would  wish  to  convey  of  my  Italy  and  my  France.  There  is  not  more  differ- 
ence between  the  "Allegro"  and  "II  Penseroso"  of  Milton.  France  rises 
before  me  in  the  shape  of  a  merry-andrew  jingling  his  bells,  and  exhibiting 
wondrous  feats  of  agility;  Italy  assumes  the  awful  shape  of  the  spectre  that 
stood  before  Brutus  in  the  camp,  and  promised  to  meet  him  at  Philippi. 

In  those  days  a  Franciscan  friar,  called  Ganganelli  (Clement  XIV.),  sat  in 
the  pontific  chair ;  and,  sorrowful  to  tell,  being  of  a  cringing,  time-serving, 
and  worldly-minded  disposition,  did  considerable  damage  to  the  church  over 
which,  in  evil  hour,  he  was  appointed  to  preside.  The  only  good  act  of  his  I 
am  disposed  to  recognize  is  the  addition  to  the  Vatican  gallery,  called  after 
him  the  "  Museum  Clementinum  :  "  but  that  was  but  a  poor  compensation  for 
the  loss  which  literature  and  science  sustained  (through  his  ineffable  folly)  in 
the  unwarrantable  destruction  of  that  unrivalled  "order"  of  literati,  the 
Jesuits.*  The  sacrifice  was  avowedly  meant  to  propitiate  the  demon  of 
Irreligion,  then  first  exhibiting  his  presence  in  France  ;  but,  like  all  such  con- 
cessions to  an  evil  spirit,  it  only  provoked  further  exigencies  and  more  impera- 
tive demands,  until  Talleyr.wd,  by  proposing  in  the  National  Assembly  the 
abolition  of  church  property,  effectually  demolished  the  old  Gallican  glories  of 
Christianity,  and  extinguished  the  lamp  that  had  burnt  for  ages  before  the 
altar  of  our  common  God.  It  was,  no  doubt,  an  act  of  forgetfulness  in  the 
preceding  pope.  Prosper  Lambertini  (Benedict  XIV.),  to  open  a  correspon- 
dence with  Voltaire,  to  whom,  in  return  for  the  dedication  of  his  tragedy  of 
"  Mahomet,"  he  sent  his  "apostolical  Ijlessing ;  "  but  it  was  reserved  for  the 
friar-pope  to  inflict  an  irrecoverable  wound  on  the  cause  of  enlightened 
religion,  by  his  bull  of  the  21st  of  July,  1773. 

rdvvell  on  this  topic  con  amove,  because  of  my  personal  feelings  of  attach- 
ment to  the  instructors  of  my  youth;   and  also  because  the  subject  was  often 

*  A  book  nuns  in  circulation  called  "Ganganelll's  Letters  ;  "  but  it  is  an  imposition  on 
public  credulity,  to  be  classed  in  the  annals  of  forgery  alongside  of  Macpherson's 
"Ossian,"  Chatterton's  "Rowley,"  and  the  "Decretals"  of  Isidorus  Mercator.— 
Prout. 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  215 

the  cause  of  a  friendly  quarrel  between  myself  and  Barr\'  the  painter,  whom  I 
met  at  Rome,  and  knew  intimately.  He  was  a  "wild  fellow,"  and,  by  some 
chance,  had  for  me  a  sort  of  confiding  fondness,  owing,  no  doubt,  to  our 
being  both  natives  of  Cork,  or,  at  least,  citizens  thereof :  for  /  was  born  in 
Dublin,  as  duly  set  forth  in  that  part  of  my  autobiography  called  "Dean 
^\\ift's  Madness  ;  a  Tale  of  a  Churn."  Now  Barr)-  was  so  talcen  with  Gan- 
ganelli's  addition  to  the  Vatican  collection,  that  he  has  placed  him  among  the 
shades  of  the  blessed  in  his  picture  of  Elysium,  at  the  hall  of  the  Adelphi, 
London;  giving  a  snug  berth  in  "hell"  to  Pope  Adrian  IV.,  who  bestowed 
Ireland  on  Henry  II.  I  question  not  the  propriety  of  this  latter  arrangement; 
but  I  strongly  object  to  the  apotheosis  of  Ganganelli. 

This  digression,  however  unconnected  with  the  "  Songs  of  Italy,"  may  serve 
as  a  chronological  landmark,  indicative  of  the  period  to  which'l  refer'  in  my 
observations  on  the  poetry  of  that  interesting  country.  Alfieri  had  not  yet  re- 
kindled the  fire  of  tragic  thought;  Manzoni  had  not  flung  into  the  pages  of 
romantic  narrative  a  pathos  and  an  eloquence  unknown  to,  and  undreamt  of, 
!  y  Boccaccio  ;   Silvio  Pellico  had  not  appalled  the  world  with  realities  far  stir- 

-issing  romance  ;  Pindemonte  had  not  restrung  the  lyre  of  Filicaia.  But 
i  leaven  knows  there  was  enough  of  genius  and  exalted  inspiration  in  the  very 

■-dest  ornaments  of  Italian  composition,  in  the  ever-glorious  founders  of  the 
Tosczna  favella,  to  render  unnecessan.^  to  its  triumph  the  subsequent  corps 
dc  reserve,  whose  achievements  in  the  field  of  Uterature  I  do  not  seek  to  under- 
value. 

Poets  have  been  the  earliest  writers  in  every  language,  and  the  first  elements 

f  recognized  speech  have  invariably  been  collected,  arranged,  and  systematized 
:  y  the  Muse.  The  metrical  narrative  of  the  Arabian  Job,  the  record  of  the 
'..  orld's  creation  as  sung  by  Hesiod,  the  historical  poetry  of  Ennius,  the  glorious 
■  ision  of  Dante,  the  songs  of  Marot  and  Malherbe,  the  tales  of  Chaucer,  have 

ach  respectively  been  the  earliest  acknowledged  forms  and  nrodels  on  wiiich 
:he  Hebrew,  the  Greek,  the  Latin,  the  Italian,  the  French,  and  the  English 
:  lioms  were  constructed.  I  have  placed  these  six  languages  ^the  noblest  and 
most  perfect  vehicles  of  human  intercourse  that  have  ever  existed)  in  the  rota- 
tion of  their  successive  rise  and  establishment,  and  have  purposely  excluded  all 
mention  of  German  or  Teutonic  dialects,  being  thoroughly  convinced  that  a 
contempt  for  Germany  is  the  "beginning  of  wisdom."  Taking  them  chrono- 
logically, the  Hebraic  patent  of  precedency  is  undoubted.  The  travels  of 
Hesiod,  Homer,  and  Herodotus,  through  EgA-pt  and  Asia  Minor,  sufficiently 
explain  the  subsequent  traces  of  that  oriental  idiom  among  the  Greeks ;  the 
transmission  of  ideas  and  language  from  Greece  to  Italy  is  recorded  insettenns 
by  the  prince  of  Latin  song,  who  adopts  the  Greek  hexameter  as  well  as  the 
topics  of  Hesiod  :  »■ 

"  Ascrasuraque  cano  Romana  per  oppida  carmen." 

Georgic.  II. 

The  Italians,  when  Latin  ceased  to  be  the  European  medium  of  international 
communication,  were  the  first  to  form  out  of  the  ruins  of  that  glorious  parlance 
an  idiom,  fixed  as  early  as  1330,  and  perfect  in  all  its  modern  elegance  ; — so 
perfect,  indeed,  as  to  warrant  the  application  to  it  of  the  exclamation  of 
Horace  : 

"  O  matre  pulchra  filia  pulchrior  1 " 

Lib.  i.  ode  16. 

France  followed  next  in  the  development  of  its  happy  vocabulary,  under 
Francis  I. ;  and  England,  under  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  finally  adopted  its 
modem  system  of  phraseology. 


2i6  TJic   Works  of  Father  Front. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  but  not  the  less  true,  that  Dante  (who  had  studied  at 
the  university  of  Paris,  where  he  maintained  with  applause  a  thesis,  "  De 
omni  Re  scibili"),  on  his  return  to  Italy,  meditating  his  grand  work  of  the 
"  Divina  Commedia,"  was  a  long  time  undecided  to  what  dialect  he  should 
commit  the  offspring  of  his  prolific  mind.  His  own  bias  lay  towards  the  Latin, 
and  he  even  liad  commenced  in  that  tongue  the  description  of  hell,  the  opening 
verse  of  which  has  been  preserved  : 

"  Pallida  regna  canam,  fluido  contennina  mundo  !" 

But  the  monks  of  Bobbio,  having  seen  a  specimen  of  the  poem  in  the  popular 
version,  strongly  advised  the  young  poet  to  continue  it  in  the  vernacular  tongue  ; 
and  that  decision  influenced  the  fate  of  Italian  literature. 

Petrarca  is  known  to  have  considerably  underrated  the  powers  of  Dante, 
whose  style  and  manner  he  could  not  relish  :  indeed,  no  two  writers  could 
possibly  have  adopted  a  more  opposite  system  of  composition,  and  out  of  the 
same  materials  constructed  poetry  of  so  distinct  a  character.  Rude,  massive, 
and  somewhat  uncouth,  ihe  tcrza  riina  of  the  "infernal  laureate"  resembled 
the  Doric  temples  of  Paestum  ;  delicate,  refined,  and  elegant,  the  sonnets  of 
Petrarca  assimilate  in  finish  to  the  Ionic  structure  at  Xismes  dedicated  to  Diana. 
But  the  canzoiii  of  Laura's  lover  are  the  most  exquisite  of  his  productions,  and 
far  surpass  in  harmony  and  poetic  merit  the  soneiti.  Such  is  the  opinion  of 
Muratori,  and  such  also  is  the  verdict  of  the  ingenious  author  of  the  "  Secchia 
Rapita."  These  canzoni  are,  in  fact,  the  model  and  the  perfection  of  that 
species  of  song  of  which  the  burden  is  love ;  and  though  some  modern  poets 
have  gone  farther  in  the  expression  of  mere  animal  passion  (such  as  Moore  and 
Byron),  never  has  woman  been  addressed  in  such  accomplished  strains  of  elo- 
quence and  sentiment  as  Donna  Laura  by  the  hermit  of  \'aucluse. 

There  may  be  some  partiality  felt  by  me  towards  Petrarca.  He  belonged  to 
"  my  order  ;"  and  though  the  union  of  the  p-icst  and  the  poet  (combined  in 
the  term  vates)  is  an  old  association,  the  instances  in  the  Catholic  priest- 
hood have  been  too  rare  not  to  prize  the  solitary  example  of  sacerdotal  min- 
strelsey  in  the  archdeacon  of  Parma.  Jerome  \'ida,  the  bishop  of  a  small  town 
in  Italy,  was  distinguished  as  a  Latin  poet — 

"  Immortal  Vida,  on  whose  honour'd  brow 
The  critic's  bays  and  poet's  ivy  grow  ; " 

(Pope,  Essay  on  Criticism.") 

and  several  yesuits  have  felt  the  inspiration  of  the  Muse  :  but  the  excellence 
of  Petrarca  as  a  poet  has  caused  his  theological  acquirements,  which  were  of 
the  highest  order,  to  be  quite  forgotten.  I  was  greatly  amused  some  days  ago, 
in  turning  over  the  volume  of  Bellarmin,  "  De  Scriptoribus  Ecclesiasticis," 
to  find  at  page  227  (410.  Romae,  1613)  the  following  notice  of  the  sonnet- 
teer  : 

"  Franciscus  Petrarca,  archidiaconus  Parmensis,  lusit  elegantissimis  versibus 
amores  suos  erga  Lauram,  ut  haberet  materiam  exercendce  musse  ;  sed  tempus 
consumptum  in  illis  cantiunculis  deflevit,  et  nnilta  opera  gravia  atque  utilia 
scripsit.     Pie  obiit  1374.  " 

Ihe  learned  cardinal,  no  doubt,  valued  much  more  these  j^ra-'e  and  useful 
works,  which  are  doomed  to  lurk  amid  cobwebs  in  the  monastic  libraries  of  the 
continent,  than  the  exquisite  outpourings  of  soul  and  harmony  which  have 
filled  all  I'2urope  with  rapture.     A  cliacun  son  gout. 

Long  before  I  had  crossed  the  Alps  I  had  been  an  admirer  of  Petrarca.  My 
residence  at  Avignon  ;  my  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  church  of  St.  Clair, 
where,  in  his  twenty-fifth  year  (Friday,  April  6,  1337),  he  for  the  first  time  saw 
the  Madonna  Laura,  then  aged  seventeen  ;  my  frequent  excursions  to  the  source 


TJie  Songs  of  Italy. 


217 


that  limpid  torrent,  called  by  Pliny,  Vallisclausa,  and  by  the  French,  Vaucluse, 
had  drawn  my  attention  to  his  writings  and  his  character.  An  enthusiastic  love 
of  both  was  the  natural  result;  and  1  sometimes,  in  the  perusal  of  his  senti- 
ments, would  catch  the  contagion  of  his  exquisite  Platonism.  Yes  !  Laura, 
after  the  lapse  of  five  centuries,  had  made  a  second  conquest ! 

"  Je  redemandais  Laure  a  I'echo  du  vallon, 
Et  I'echo  n'avait  point  oublie  ce  doux  nom." — Delille. 

It  has  been  said,  that  no  poet's  mistress  ever  attained  such  celebrity  as  the 
Platonic  object  of  Petrarca's  affections  :  she  has,  in  fact,  taken  her  place  as  a 
fourth  maid  of  honour  in  the  train  of  "graces"  that  wait  on  Venus  ;  and  the 
romantic  source  of  the  Sorga  has  become  the  Castalian  spring  of  all  who  would 
write  on  love. 


ALLA   FONTANA  DI   VAL- 
CHIUSA. 

Canzo7ie  di  Fra7tcesco  Peirarca. 

Chiare,  fresche,  e  dolci  acque, 
Ove  le  belle  membra 
Pose  colei,  che  sola  a  me  par  donna  ; 
Gentil  ramo,  ove  piacque 
(Con  sospir  mi  rimembra) 
A  lei  di  fare  al  bel  fianco  colonna ; 
Erba  e  fior,  che  la  gonna 

Leggiadra  ricoverse 
Con  F  angelico  seno ; 
Aer  sacro  sereno, 
Ov'  amor  co'  begli  occhi  il  cor  m'  aperse  ;- 
Date  udienza  insieme 
Alle  dolenti  mie  parole  estreme. 


S'  eg]  c  pur  mio  destine, 
E  '1  cielo  in  cio  s'  adopra, 
Ch'  amor  quest'  occhi  lagrimand  chiuda; 
Qualche  grazia  il  meschino 
Corpo  fra  voi  ricopra ; 
E  torni  1'  alma  al  proprio  albergo  ignuda. 
La  morte  fia  men  cruda, 
Se  questa  speme  porto 
A  quel  dubbioso  passo  : 
Che  lo  spirito  lasso 
Non  poria  mai  in  piii  riposato  porto, 

Ne  'n  piu  tranquilla  fossa 
Fuggir  la  carne  travagliata  oi  I'  ossa. 


Tempo  verra  ancor  forse, 
Che  air  usato  soggiomo 
Torni  la  fera  bella  e  mansueta  ; 
E  la,  'v'  ella  mi  scorse 


PETRARCA'S  ADDRESS 


To  the  Smujner  Hannt  of  Laura. 


Sweet  fountain  of  Vaucluse  ! 
The  virgin  freshness  of  whose  crj'Stal  bed 
The  ladye,  idol  of  my  soul !  hath  led 
Within    thy  wave    her    fairy    bath    to 

choose ! 
And  thou,  O  favourite  tree  ! 
Whose  branches  she  loved  best 
To  shade  her  hour  of  rest  — 
Her  own  dear  native  land's  green  mul- 
berry ! 
Roses,  whose  earliest  bud 
To  her  sweet  bosom  lent 
Fragrance  and  ornament  ! 
ZephjTS,  who  fan  the  murmuring  flood  ! 
Cool  grove,  sequestered  grot  ! 
Here  in  this  lovely  spot 
I   pour  my  last  sad  lay,   where  first  her 
love  I  wooed. 
• 

If  soon  my  earthly  woes 
Must  slumber  in  the  tomb. 
And  if  my  life's  sad  doom 
Must  so  in  sorrow  close  ! 
Where  yonder  willow  grows. 
Close  by  the  margin  lay 
My  cold  and  lifeless  clay, 
That  unrequited  love  may  find  repose  ! 
Seek  thou  thy  native  realm. 
My  soul  !  and  when  the  fear 
Of  dissolution  near, 
And  doubts  shall  overwhelm, 
A  ray  of  comfort  round 

My  dying  couch  shall  hover. 
If  some  kind  hand  will  cover 
My  miserable  bones  in  yonder  hallowed 
ground  ! 

tut  still  alive  for  her 
Oft  may  my  ashes  greet 
The  sound  of  coming  feet ! 
And  Laura's  tread  gladden  my  sepulchre  ! 

K 


2l8 


TJic   Works  of  FatJier  Proitt. 


Nel  benedetto  giorno, 
Volga  la  vista  desiosa  e  lieta 

Cercandomi ;  ed,  o  pieta  ! 
Gia  terra  in  fra  le  pietre 

Videndo,  amor  l'  inspiri 

In  guisa,  che  sospiri 
Si  dolcemente,  che  merco  m'  impetre, 

E  faccia  forza  al  cielo, 
Asciugandosi  gli  occhi  col  bel  velo. 


Da'  be'  rami  scendea,^ 
(Dolce  nella  memoria,) 
Una  pioggia  di  fior  sovra  '1  suo  grembo  ; 
Ed  ella  si  sedea 
Umile  in  tanta  gloria, 
Coverta  gia  dell'  amoroso  nembo  ;     • 
Qual  fior  cadea  sul  lembo, 
Qual  sulle  trecce  bionde  ; 
Ch'  oro  forbito,  e  perle 
Eran  quel  di  a  vederle  ; 
Qual  si  posava  in  terra,  e  qual  suU'  onde ; 

Qual  con  un  vago  errore 
Girando,  parea  dir,  "'  Qui  regna  Amore." 


Quante  volte  diss'  io 
Allor  pien  di  spavento, 
"  Costei  per  fermo  nacque  in  Paradise  ;" 
Co^i  carco  d'  obblio, 
II  divin  portamento, 
E  '1  volto,  e  le  parole,  e  '1  dolce  rise 
iM'  aveano,  e  si  diviso 

Dair  immagine  vera, 
Ch'  io  dicea  sospirando, 
"  Qui  come  venn'  io,  o  quando  ?  " 
Credendo  esser  in  ciel,  non  la,  dov'  era? 

Da  indi  in  qua  mi  place 
Quest'  2rba  si,  ch'  altrove  non  ho  pace. 


Relenting,  on  my  grave, 

My  mistress  may,  perchance, 
With  one  kind  pitying  glance 
Honour  the  dust  of  her  devoted  slave. 
Then  may  she  intercede. 

With  prayer  and  sigh,  for  one 
Who,  hence  for  ever  gone. 
Of  mercy  stands  in  need  ; 
And  while  for  me  her  rosary  she  tells, 
May  her  uplifted  eyes 
Win  pardon  from  the  skies. 
While  angels  through  her  veil  behold  the 
tear  that  swells  ! 

Visions  of  love  !  ye  dwell 
In  memory  still  enshrined. — 
Here,  as  she  once  reclined, 
A  shower  of  blossoms  on  her  bosom  fell  ! 
And  while  th'  enamoured  tree 
From  all  its  branches  thus 
Rained  odoriferous, 
She  sat,  unconscious,  all  humility. 
Mixed  with  her  golden  hair,  those  blos- 
soms sweet 
Like  pearls  on  amber  seem.ed  ; — 
Some  their  allegiance  deemed 
Due  t^o  her  floating  robe  and  lovely  feet : 
Others,  disporting,  took 
Their  course  adow^n  the  brook  ; 
Others,  aloft,  wafted  in  airy  sport. 
Seemed  to  proclaim,  "  I'o-day  Love  holds 
his  merry  court  I " 

I've  gazed  upon  thee,  jewel  beyond  price  ! 
Till  from  my  inmost  soul 
This  secret  whisper  stole — 
"  Of  Earth  no  child  art  thou,  daughter  of 
Pan'adise  ! " 
Such  sway  thy  beauty  held 
O'er  the  enraptured  sense, 
And  such  the  influence 
Of  winning  smile  and  form  unparalleled  I 
And  I  would  marN'el  then 
"  How  came  I  here,  and  when. 
Wafted  by  magic  wand, 
Earth's  narrow  joys  beyond?  " 
O,  I  shall  ever  count 
My  happiest  days  spent  here  by  this  ro- 
mantic fount ! 


In  this  graceful  effusion  of  tender  feelings,  to  which  a  responsive  cliord  must 
vibrate  inevcry  breast,  and  compared  with  which  the  most  admired  of  modern 
love-ditties  will  seem  paltry  and  vulgar,  the  tenderness,  tlie  exalted  passion,  the 
fervid  glow  of  a  noble  heart,  and  the  mysterious  workings  of  a  most  gifted 
mind,  exiiibit  themselves  in  every  stanza.  What  can  be  more  beautifully  de- 
scriptive than  the  opening  lines,  equalling  in  melodious  cadetice  the  sweetest  of 
Horace, 

"  O  fons  Bandusiae,  splendidior  vitro  ;" 

but  infinitely  superior  in  delicacy  of  sentiment  and  pathetic  power !  The 
calm  melancholy  of  the  succeeding  strophe  has  been  often  admired,  and 
lias,  of  course,  found  great  favour  among  the  Tommy  Moorcs  of  every 
country — 

"  Imitatorcs,  servum  pecus." 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  219 

Tommy  has  given  us  his  last  dying-speech  in  that  rigmarole  melody, 

"  When  in  death  I  shall  calm  recline  ;" 

but  this  bard's  legacy  is  a  sad  specimen  of  mock-turtle  pathos,  and,  with  the 
atfectatiou  of  tenderest  emotion,  is,  in  style  and  thought,  repugnant  to  all 
notions  of  real  refinement  and  simplicity.  In  the  last  will  of  Petrarca — a  most 
interesting  document — there  is  a  legacy  which  any  one  may  be  pardoned  for 
coveting;  it  is  the  poet's  lute,  which  he  bequeaths  to  a  friend,  with  a  most 
affecting  and  solemn  recommendation  :  "  Magistro  I'homjE  de  Ferrara  lego 
Icutiim  meum  bonum,  ut  eum  sonet  non  pro  vanitate  s^eculi  fugacis,  sed  ad 
laudem  Dei  Esterni."  — (Testament,  Petrar. )  I  am  pretty  certam  that  into 
whatever  hands  that  bequest  has  since  found  its  wav  our  Tommv  has  not  got 
hold  of  it. 

As  the  Hibernian  melodist  has  had  his  name  thus  smuggled  into  my  essay  on 
the  "  Songs  of  Italy,"  it  may  not  be  irrelevant  (as  assuredly  it  will  be  edifying) 
to  point  out  some  of  his  "  rogueries"  perpetrated  in  this  quarter.  Not  content 
with  picking  the  pockets  of  tlie  French,  he  has  extended  his  depredations  to 
the  very  extremity  of  Calabria.  I  shall  have  many  opportunities  of  recording 
as  I  go  along  these  unblushing  robberies  ;  but  Petrarca  s  case  is  one  of  peculiar 
hardship.  Laura's  lover,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  eloquent  passion,  takes  a  wide  ' 
range  in  one  of  his  songs,  and  ransacks  the  world,  east  and  west,  for  images 
drawn  from  the  several  phenomena  which  nature  exhibits  in  each  country 
through  which  his  muse  wanders  uncontrolled.  Among  otlier  curious  compari- 
sons and  happy  flights  of  fancy,  he  introduces  the  fountain  of  the  Sun,  near 
the  temple  of  Jupiter  Ammon;  and,  describing  the  occasional  warmth  and  suc- 
cessive icy  chill  which  he  experiences  in  the  presence  or  absence  of  his  beloved, 
compares  his  heart  to  that  mysterious  water,  which,  cold  at  mid-day,  grew  warm 
towards  eve.  Would  the  reader  wish  to  see  with  what  effrontery  Moore  appro- 
priates, without  the  slightest  acknowledgment,  the  happy  idea  of  Petrarch? 
Here  are  the  parallel  passages  : 

PETRARCA.  TO-AI   ^lOORE. 

^ "  Sorge  nel  mezzo  giorno,  "  Fly  not  yet !  the  fount  that  play'd, 

Una  fontana,  e  tien  nome  del  Sole,  In  days  of  old,  through  Ammon 's  shade, 

Che  per  natura  suole  _  Though  icy  cold  by  day  it  ran, 

Bollirla  notie,  en  sul  giorno  esser  fredda.  Yet  still,  like  souls  of  mirth,  began 


*  *  «  * 


To  bum  "Mhcn  iiisrht  was  tiear. 


Cos!  avien  a  me  stesso  And  thus  should  woman's  heart  and  looks 

Che  mio  sol  s'  allontana  At  noon  be  cold  as  wintry  brooks, 

Ardo  allor,"  &c.  But  kindle  when  the  night's  returning 

Canzoni  di  Petr.  31,  st.  4.  Brings  the  genial  hour  for  burning." 

The  learned  priest  had  been  at  the  trouble  of  perusing  Quintus  Curtius,  lib. 
iv.  cap.  7,  where  he  had  found  :  "  Est  etiam  Ammonis  nemus;  in  medio  habet 
fontem  ;  aquam  solis  vocant  ;  sub  lucis  orttim  trepida  manat,  medio  die  frigida 
eadem  fluit,  inclinato  in  vesperam  calescit,  media  nocte  fervida  exasstuat."  He 
had  also,  no  doubt,  read  the  lines  in  Sihus  Itahcus,  "  De  Bello  Punico,"  refer- 
ring to  this  same  source  : 

"  Quas  nascente  die,  quae  deficiente  tepescit, 
Quaeque  riget  medium  cum  sol  ascendit  Olympum." 

But  his  property,  in  the  application  of  the  simile,  has  been  invaded,  and  all  the 
fruits  of  his  labours  have  been  enjoyed,  by  Tommy,  who  had  read  nothing  of 
the  sort — 

"  Sic  vos  non  vobis  mellificatis  apes  I " 

After  all,  I  am  wasting  my  time  on  such  minor  matters. 


220  The   Works  of  Father  Front. 


In  the  celebrated  address  above  quoted  of  the  hermit  of  Vaucluse  to  that 
immortal  fountain,  I  have  given  what  I  consider  a  fair  specimen  of  Itahan 
amatorv  poesv  :  but  though  the  poets  of  that  genial  climate  are  "all  for  love," 
still  they  are'also  "a  little  for  the  bottle."  Hence  it  is  that  I  consider  it  my 
dutv,  as'  an  essayist,  to  bring  forward  a  sample  of  their  bacchaiialia?i  songs; 
and'  I  do  so  the  m'ore  readily  as  one  suggests  itself  just  now  to  my  memon,-  of 
a  very  early  date  and  of  a  highly  classical  tenour.  It  has  evidently  been 
modelled  on  a  well-known  ode  oif  Anacreon,  and  there  is  infused  through  it  a 
vigour  and  a  fancy  indicative  of  sterling  genius. 

SONETTO   DITIRAMBICO. 

Claudia  Tolovtei. 

Non  mi  far,  O  Vulcan  I  di  questo  argento 

Scolpiti  in  vaga  schiera  uomini  ed  armi_: 

Fammene  una  gran  tazza,  ove  bagnarmi 
Possa  i  denti,  la  lingua,  i  labbri,  e  '1  mento. 

Non  mi  ritrar  in  lei  pioggia  ne  vento, 

Ne  sole  o  stelle  per  vaghezza  darmi ; 

Non  puo  '1  Carro  o  Boote  allegro  farmi — 
Ch'  altrove  e  la  mia  gioia  e  '1  mio  contento. 

Fa  dalle  viti  ed  alle  viti  intomo 

Pendir'  dell'  uve,  e  1'  uve  stillin  vino, 
Ch'  io  bevo,  e  poi  dagli  occhi  ebro  distillo  ; 

E  'n  mezzo  un  vaso,  ove  in  bel  coro  adorno, 

Coro  pill  ch'  altro  lieto  e  piu  divino, 
Pestino  1'  uve  Amor,  Bacco,  e  Batlllo  ! 

THE  WINE-CUP   BESPOKEN. 

Air — "  One  bumper  at  parting." 

Great  Vulcan  I  your  dark  smoky  palace, 

With  these  ingots  of  silver,  I  seek  ; 
And  I  beg  you  will  make  me  a  chalice, 

Like  the  cup  you  once  forged  for  the  Greek. 
Let  no  deeds  of  Bellona  "  the  bloody" 

Emblazon  this  goblet  of  mine  ; 
But  a  garland  of  grapes,  ripe  and  ruddy. 

In  sculpture  around  it  entwine. 

The  festoon  (which  you'll  gracefully  model) 

Is,  remember,  but  part  of  the  whole  ; 
Lest,  perchance,  it  might  enter  your  noddle 

To  diminish  the  size  of  the  bowl. 
For  though  dearly  what  s  deem'd  ornamental. 

And  of  art  the  bright  symbols,  I  prize  ; 
Still  I  cling  with  a  fondness  parental 

Round  a  cup  of  the  true  good  old  size. 

Let  me  have  neither  sun,  moon,  nor  planet, 

Nor  "  the  Bear,"  nor  "  the  Twins,"  nor  "the  Goat: 

Yet  its  use  to  each  eye  that  may  scan  it, 
I  Let  a  glance  at  its  emblems  denote. 

Then  away  with  Minerva  and  \'enus  ! 
Not  a  rush  fir  them  lioth  do  I  care  ; 

But  let  jolly  old  Father  -Silenus, 
Astride  on  his  jackass,  be  there  ! 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  221 

Let  a  dance  of  gay  satyrs,  in  cadence 

Disporting,  be  seen  mid  the  fruit ; 
And  let  Pan  to  a  group  of  young  maidens 

Teach  a  new  vintage-lay  on  his  flute  ; 
Cupid,  too,  hand  in  hand  with  Bathyllus, 

I\Iay  purple  his  feet  in  the  foam  : 
Long  may  last  the  red  joys  they  distil  us ! 

Tho'  Love  spread  his  winglets  to  roam  ! 

Each  line  of  the  above  is  pregnant  with  meaning  ;  and  the  images  are  so 
gracfully  arranged,  that  it  would  be  an  easy  taslc  for  the  artist  to  embody  m 
basso-relievo  the  conceptions  of  the  poet. 

The  songsters  of  Italy  have  not  confined  themselves  so  exclusively  to  the 
charms  of  the  ladies  and  the  fascinations  of  the  flask,  as  not  to  have  felt  the 
noble  pulse  of  patriotic  emotion,  and  sung  the  anthem  of  independence. 
There  is  a  glorious  ode  of  Petrarch  to  his  native  land  :  and  here  is  a  well-known 
poetic  outburst  from  a  truly  spirited  champion  of  his  country  s  rights,  the 
enthusiastic  but  graceful  and  dignified  Filicaia. 

ALL  A   PATRL\. 

Italia  !  Italia  !  o  tu  cui  feo  la  sorte 

Dono  infelice  di  bellezza,  ond'  hai 

Funesta  dote  d'  infiniti  guai 
Che  in  fronte  scritti  per  gran  doglia  porte  ; 

Deh  !  fossi  tu  men  bella,  o  almen  piu  forte 

Onde  assai  piu  ti  paventasse,  o  assai_ 

1"  amasse  men  chi  del  tuo  bello  a'  rai 
Par  che  si  strugga,  e  pur  ti  sfida  a  morte. 

Che  giu  dair  Alpi  non  vedrei  torrenti 

Scender  d'  armati,  ne  di  sangue  tinta 
Bever  1'  onda  del  Po  gallici  armenti ; 

Xe  te  vedrei  del  non  tuo  ferro  cinta 
Pugnar  col  braccio  di  straniere  genti 
Per  servir  sempre,  o  vincitrice  o  vinta  ! 

TO    PROSTRATE   ITALY. 

Hast  though  not  been  the  natiojis'  queen,  fair  Italy  ;  though  now 
Chance  gives  to  them  the  diadem  that  once  adorn'd  thy  brow  ? 
Too  beautiful  for  tj-rant's  rule,  too  proud  for  handmaid's  duty- 
Would  thou  hadst  less  of  loveliness,  or  strength  as  well  as  beauty  ! 

The  fatal  light  of  beauty  bright  with  fell  attraction  shone, 
Fatal  to  thee,  for  tyrants  be  the  lovers  thou  hast  won  1 
That  forehead  fair 'is  doom'd  to  wear  its  shame's  degrading  proof, 
And  slavery's  print  in  damning  tint  stamp'd  by  a  despot's  hoof ! 

Were  strength  and  power,  maiden  1  thy  dower,  soon  should  that  robber-band. 
That  prowls  unbid  thy  vines  amid,  fly  scourged  from  off  that  land  ; 
Nor  wouldst  thou  fear  yon  foreigner,  nor  be  condemn'd  to  see 
Drink  in  the  flow  of  classic  Po  barbarian  cavalry. 

Climate  of  art !  thy  sons  depart  to  gild  a  Vandal's  throne  ; 
To  battle  led,  their  blood  is  shed  in  contests  not  their  own  ;—     ^ 
]\Iixd  with  yon  horde,  go  draw  thy  sword,  nor  ask  what  cause   tis  tor: 
Tky  lot  is  cast— slave  to  the  last !  conquer'd  or  conqueror  ! 


TJie  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 


Truly  is  Italy  the  "climate  of  art,"  as  I  have  designated  her  in  my  version: 
for  even  the  peasantrv-,  admitted  as  they  constantly  are,  by  the  wise  munificence 
of  the  reigning  princes,  to  all  public  collections  of  sculpture  and  painting, 
evince  an  instinctive  admiration  of  the  capi  d'  opera  of  the  most  celebrated 
masters,  easily  distinguishing  them  from  the  multitude  of  inferior  productions 
with  which  they  are  generally  surrounded.  This  innate  perception  appears  the 
birthright  of  every  son  of  Italy ;  and  I  have  often  hstened  with  surprise  to  the 
observations  of  the  artificers  of  Rome,  and  the  dwellers  of  the  neighbouring 
hills,  as  they  strolled  through  the  Vatican  gallery.  There  is  one  statue  in 
rather  an  unfrequented,  but  vast  magnificent  church,  of  the  Eternal  City,  round 
which  I  never  failed  to  meet  a  group  of  enthusiastic  admirers  :  it  is  the  cele- 
brated Moses;  in  which  Frenchmen  have  only  found  matter  for  \-ulgarjest, 
but  which  tlie  Italians  view  with  becoming  veneration.  One  of  the  best  odes 
in  the  language  has  been  composed  in  honour  of  this  glorious  effort  of  Buona- 
rotti's  chisel. 

IL   MOSE    DI   MICHEL   AXGELO. 

So7ietto  di  Giainbattista  Zappi. 

Chi  e  cestui,  che  in  si  gran  pietra  scolto 

Siede,  gigante,  e  le  piii  illustri  e  conte 

Opre  deir  arte  avanza,  e  ha  vive  e  pronte 
Le  labbra  si  che  le  parole  ascolto  ? 

Quest!  fe  Mose  ;  ben  me  1  diceva  il  folto 
Onor  del  mento,  e  '1  doppio  raggio  in  fronte  J 
Questi  e  Mose,  quando  scendea  dal  monte, 

E  gran  parte  del  Nume  avea  nel  volte. 

Tal  era  allor,  che  le  sonante  e  vaste 

Acque  ei  sospese  a  se  d'  intomo  ;  e  tale 
Quando  il  mar  chiuse,  e  ne  fe  tomba  altrul. 

E  voi,  sue  turbe,  un  rio  \-itello  alzaste? 

Alzata  aveste  immago  a  questa  egxiale  ; 
Ch'  era  men  fallo  1'  adorar  cestui. 


ODE  TO  THE  STATUE  OF  MOSES 

A  t  tJufoot  of  the  Mausoleum  of  Pope  Julitis  II.  in  tJie  Church  of  St.  Peter  ad 
Vincula,  Rome — tJie  Masterpiece  of  MicJiael  Angelo. 

Statue  ;  whose  giant  limbs 
Old  Buonarotti  plann'd,  ^ 

And  Geniu^  car\ed  with  meditative  hand, — 
Thy  da2zling  radiance  dims 
The  best  and  brightest  boasts  of  Sculpture's  favourite  land- 

\VTiat  dignity  adorns 
That  beard's  prodigious  sweep  ! 
That  forehead,  awful  with  mysterious  horns 
And  cogitation  deep, 
Of  some  uncommon  mind  the  rapt  beholder  warns. 

In  that  proud  semblance,  well 
My  soul  can  recognize 
The  prophet  fre^-h  from  converse  with  the  skies  ; 
Nor  is  it  hard  to  tell 
The  liberator's  name,— the  Guide  of  Israel. 


The  Songs  of  Italy, 


223 


Well  might  the  deep  respond 
Obedient  to  that  voice, 
When  on  the  Red  Sea  shore  he  waved  his  wand. 
And  bade  the  tribes  rejoice, 
Saved  from  the  yawning  gulf  and  the  Egj-ptian's  bond  ! 

Fools !  in  the  wilderness 
Ye  raised  a  calf  of  gold  ! 
Had  ye  then  worshipp'd  what  I  now  behold. 
Your  crime  had  been  far  less — 
For  ye  had  bent  the  knee  to  one  of  godlike  mould  ! 

There  is  a  striking  boldness  in  the  concluding  stanza,  warranted  however  by 
the  awful  majesty  of  the  colossal  figure,  of  which  no  plaster-cast  can  furnish 
an  adequate  idea. 

Smollett  has  given  us  a  delightful  "Ode  to  Leven  Water,"  in  which,  with 
enraptured  complacency,  he  dwells  on  the  varied  beauties  of  the  Scottish 
stream,  its  flowery  bank's,  its  scaly  denizens,  and  its  numerous  other  aquatic  ex- 
cellencies. By  way  of  contrast,  it  may  not  be  unpleasant  to  peruse  an  abusive 
and  angry  lyric  addressed  to  the  Tiber  by  an  Italian  poet,  who  appears  to  have 
been  disappointed  in  the  uncouth  appearance  of  that  turbid  river  ;  having 
pictured  it  to  his  young  imagination  as  an  enchanting  silvery  flood.  The 
wrath  of  the  bard  is  amusing ;  but  he  is  sometimes  eloquent  in  his  ire. 


AL  TEVERE. 


Alcssandro  Gicidi. 

lo  credea  che  in  queste  sponde 

Sempre  1'  onde 
Gisser  limpide  ed  amene  ; 
E  che  qui  soave  e  lento 

Stesse  11  vento, 
E  che  d'  or  fosser  1'  arene. 


LINES   ADDRESSED   TO   THE 
TIBER. 

By  Alessand7-o  Guidi. 

Tiber  !  mj^  early  dream, 
My  boyhood's  vision  of  thy  classic  stream, 
Had  taught  my  mind  to  think 
That  over  sands  of  gold 
Thy  limpid  waters  roll'd, 
And  ever-verdant  laurels  grew  upon  thy  brink. 


]\Ia  vago  lungi  dal  vero 

II  pensiero 
In  formar  si  bello  il  fiume  ; 
Or  che  in  riva  a  lui  mi  seggio 

lo  ben  veggio 
II  suo  volto  e  il  suo  costume. 


But  far  in  other  guise 
The  rude  reality  hath  met  mine  eyes. 
Here,  seated  on  thy  bank. 
All  desolate  and  drear 
Thy  margin  doth  appear, 
W'ith  creeping  weeds,  and  shrubs,  and  vegetation 
rank. 


Non  con  onde  llete  e  chiare 

Corre  al  mare  ; 
Passa  torbido  ed  oscuro  : 
I  suoi  lidi  austro  percuote 

E  gli  scuote 
Freddo  turbine  d'  Arturo. 


Fondly  I  fancied  thine 
The  wave  pellucid,  and  the  Naiad's  shrine, 
In  crystal  grot  below  ; 
But  thy  tempestuous  course 
Runs  turbulent  and  hoarse. 
And,  swelling  with  wild  wrath,  thy  wintry  waters 
flow. 


Quanto  fe  folle  quella  nave 

Che  non  pave 
I  suoi  vortici  sdegnosi, 
E  non  sa  che  dentro  1'  acque 

A  lui  piacque 
Di  fondar'  perigli  ascosi. 


Upon  thy  bosom  dark 
Perrl  awaits  the  Hght  confiding  bark, 
In  eddying  vortex  swamp'd  ; 
Foul,  treacherous,  and  deep. 
Thy  winding  waters  sweep, 
Enveloping  their  prey  in  dismal  ruin  prompt. 


224 


TJic  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Suol  trovarsi  in  suo  cammino 

Quivi  il  pino 
Tra  profonde  ampie  caveme ; 
D'improvviso  ei  giunge  al  lito 

Di  Cocito 
A  solcar  quell'  onde  infeme. 

Quando  in  Sirio  il  Sol  riluce, 

E  conduce 
L'  ore  ferv'ide  inquiete, 

Chi  conforto  al  Tebro  chiede 

Ben'  s'  a\'\'ede 
Di  cercarlo  in  grembo  a  Lete. 

Ognun  sa  come  spumoso, 

Orgoglioso, 
Sin  con  mar  prende  contesa, 
Vuol  talor  passar  veloce 

L'  alta  foce, 
Quando  Teti  fe  d'  ira  accessa. 

Quindi  avvien  ch'  ei  fa  ritomo 

Pien  di  scorno, 
E  s'  av^-enta  alle  rapine  : 
Si  divora  il  bosco,  e  il  solco, 

E  il  bifolco 
Nuota  in  cima  alle  ruine. 

Quel  frequenti  illustri  allori, 

Quegli  onori 
Per  cui  tanto  egli  si  noma 
Fregi  son  d'  antichi  eroi, 

E  non  suoi, 
E  son  doni  alfin  di  Roma. 

Lui  fan  chiaro  il  gran  tragitto 

Deir  invitto 
Cor  di  Clelia  al  suol  Romano, 
E  il  guesrier  che  sopra  il  ponte 

L'  alta  fronte 
Tenne  incontro  al  reToscano. 

Fu  di  Romolo  la  gente 

Che  il  tridente 
Di  Nettuno  in  man  gli  porse  ; 
Ebbe  allor  del  mar  i'  impero, 

Ed  altero 
Trionfando  intorno  corse.     ' 

Ma  il  crudel,  che  il  tutto  oblia, 

E  de>ia 
Di  spezzar  mai  sempre  il  freno, 
Spesso  a  Roma  insulti  rende, 

Ed  ofTende 
L'ombre  auguste  all'  ume  in  scno. 


Fast  in  thy  bed  is  sunk 
The  mountain  pine-tree's  broken  trunk, 
Aim'd  at  the  galley's  keel ; 
And  well  thy  wave  can  waft 
Upon  that  broken  shaft 
The  barge,  whose  sunken  wreck  thy  bosom  will 
conceal. 

The  dog-star's  sultry  power. 
The  summer  heat,  the  noontide's  fervid  hour, 

That  fires  the  mantling  blood, 

Yon  cautious  swain  can't  urge 

To  tempt  thy  dangerous  surge. 
Or  cool  his  limbs  within  thy  dark  insidious  flood. 

I've  mark'd  thee  in  thy  pride. 
When  struggle  fierce  thy  disemboguing  tide 
With  Ocean's  monarch  held  ; 
But,  quickly  overcome 
By  Neptune's  masterdom, 
Back  thou  hast  fled  as  oft,  ingloriously  repell'd. 

Often,  athwart  the  fields 
A  giants  strength  thy  flood  redundant  wields, 
Bursting  above  its  brims — 
Strength  that  no  dyke  can  check  : 
Dire  is  the  harvest-wreck  ! 
Buoyant,  with  lofty  horns,  th'  affrighted  bullock 
swims  ! 

But  still  thy  proudest  boast, 
Tiber  !  and  what  brings  honour  to  thee  most. 
Is,  that  thy  waters  roll 
Fast  by  th'  eternal  home 
Of  Glory's  daughter,  Rome  ; 
And  that  thy  billows  bathe  the  sacred  C.\PIT0L. 

Famed  is  thy  stream  for  her, 
Clelia,  thy  current's  virgin  conqueror, 
And  him  who  stemm'd  the  march 
Of  Tuscany  s  proud  host, 
^^'hen,  firm  at  honour's  post. 
He  waved   his   blood-stain'd    blade  above  the 
broken  arch  ! 

Of  Romulus  the  sons. 
To  torrid  Africans,  to  frozen  Huns, 
Have  taught  thy  name,  O  flood  ! 
And  to  that  utmost  verge, 
Where  radiantly  emerge 
Apollo's  car  of  flame  and  golden-footed  stud. 

For  so  much  glory  lent, 
Ever  destructive  of  some  monument. 
Thou  makest  foul  return  ; 
Insulting  with  thy  wave 
Each  Roman  hero's  grave, 
And  Scipio's  dust, that  fills  yon  consecrated  tim  ! 


Turn  we  now  lo  Dante.  I  have  always  been  of  opinion,  that  the  icrza 
rima  in  whic.li  he  wrote  was  so  peculiar  a  feature  of  tlie  language,  and  a  fornrof 
verse  so  exclusively  adapted  to  ihe  Italian  idiom,  as  to  render  any  attempt  to 
translate  him  in  the  same  rhymed  measure  a  dangerous  experiment.*  I  think 
Byron,  in  adopting  the  triplet  metre  m  his  "  Prophecy  of  Dante,"  has  failed  to 

•  [Longfellow's  masterly  translation  of  the  whole  of  the  Divina  Commedia  in  tcrza 
riiitu  l):is  ^^ince  then,  as  Mahony  would  have  been  the  first  to  acknowledge,  disproved 
this  triumphantly.] 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  225 

render  it  acceptable  to  our  English  ear.  The  "  sonnet  "  is  also,  in  my  humble 
judgment,  an  unnatural  poetic  structure,  and  as  little  suited  to  our  northern 
languages  as  the  Itahan  villa-style  of  Palladio  to  our  climate.  No  English 
sonnet  has  ever  gained  popular  celebrity.  There  is  a  lengthened  but  not 
unmusical  sort  of  line,  in  which  I  think  the  old  Florentine's  numbers  might 
sweep  along  with  something  like  native  dignity. 

LA    PORTA   DEL    IXFERXO. 

Dante,  Cant.  III. 

"Per  me  si  va  nella  citta  dolente. 
Per  me  si  va  nell'  eterno  dolore, 
Per  me  si  va  tra  la  perdlta  gente. 
*  *  *  * 

DiXANZI  A  ME  NGN  FUR  COSE  CREATE, 
Se  NGN  ETERXE  ED  lU  ETERNO  DIRG, 

Lasci.-\.te  ogni  speranza  vox  ch'  INTRATE." 

Queste  parole,  di  colore  oscuro, 

Vid'  io  scritte  al  sommo  d'  una  porta 
Perch'  io,  "  Maestro  !  il  senso  lor  m'  e  duro." 

Ed  egli  a  me  come  persona  accorta, 
"  Qui  si  convien  lasciar  ogni  sospetto, 
Ugni  vilta  convien  che  qui  sia  morta. 

Noi  semvenuti  al  luogo  ov'  i'  t'  o  detto, 

Che  tu  vedrai  le  genti  dolorose, 
Ch'  hanno  perduto  '1  ben'  dell'  intelletto." 

E  polche  la  sua  mano  alia  mia  pose, 
Con  lieto  volto.  end  io  mi  confortai. 
Mi  mise  dentro  alle  secrete  cose  ; 

Quivl  sospiri,  pianti,  ed  alti  guai 

Ri'ionavan  per  1'  acre  senza  stelle. 
Perch'  io  nel  cominciar  ne  lagrimai. 

Diverse  lingue,  orribili  favelle, 
Parole  di  dolore,  accenti  d'  ira, 
Voci  alte  e  lioche,  e  suon  di  man  con  elle, 

Facevano  un  tumulto  il  qua!  s'  aggira 

Sempre  n  quell'  aria  senza  tempo  tinta. 
Come  r  arena  quando  '1  turbo  spira. 

Ed  io,  ch'  avea  d'  orror  la  testa  cinta, 
Dissi,  "  Maestro,  che  e  quel'  ch'  i  odo  "' 
E  che  gent'  e  che  par  nel  duol  si  vinta? " 

Ed  egli  a  me  :  "  Questo  misero  modo 

Tengon  1'  anime  triste  di  coloro, 
Che  visser  senza  infamia  e  senza  lodo, 

ISIischiate  sono  a  quel  cattivo  core 
Degli  angeli  che  non  furon  ribelli, 
Ne  fur  fideli  a  Dio  ma  per  se  foro. 

Cacciarli  i  ciel'  per  non  esser  men  belli, 

Ne  io  profondo  inferno  gli  riceve, 
Ch'  alcuna  gloria  i  rei  avrebber  d"  elL.  ' 

Ed  io  :  "  Maestro,  che  e  tanto  greve 
A  lor  che  lamentar  gli  fa  si  forte  ?  " 

Rispose:  "Dicerolti  molto  breve.  ^^ 


226  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

Quest!  non  hanno  speranza  di  morte, 

E  la  lor  cieca  vita  e  tanto  bassa 
Che  'nvidiosi  son  d'  o^ni  altra  sorte. 

Fama  di  lor  il  mondo  esser  non  lassa  ; 
^lisericordia  e  giustizia  gli  sdegna, 
Non  kagionam'  di  lor,  ma  guarda  e  passa  ! '' 

THE  PORCH   OF   HELL. 

Dante. 

"Seek  ye  the  path  traced  eve  the  wrath  of  God  for  sixfull  mortals? 
Of  the  reprobate  this  is  the  gate,  these  are  the  gloomy  portals  ! 
For  sinxe  and  crime  from  the  birth  of  tyme  dlgge  was  this  Gulph  Infernal. 
Guest  !  let  all  Hope  on  this  threshold  stop  !  here  reigns  Despair  Eternal." 

I  read  with  tears  these  characters — tears  shed  on  man's  behalf; 
Each  word  seem'd  fraught  with  painf  il  thought,  the  lost  soul's  epitaph. 
'I'uming  dismay 'd,  "O  mystic  shade  I"  I  cried,  "  my  kindly  ^Mentor, 
Of  comfort,  say,  can  no  sweet  ray  these  dark  dominions  enter  ?  " 

"  My  son  ! "  replied  tlie  ghostly  guide,  "  this  is  the  dark  abode 

Of  the  guilty  dead — alone  they  tread  hell's  melancholy  road. 

Brace  up  thy  nerves  I  this  hour  deserves  that  Mind  should  have  control, 

And  bid  avaunt  fears  that  would  haunt  the  clay-imprison'd  soul. 

Mine  be  the  task,  when  thou  shalt  ask,  each  mystery  to  solve  ; 
Anon  for  us  dark  Erebus  back  shall  its  gates  revolve — 
Hell  shall  disclose  its  deepest  woes,  each  punishment,  each  pang. 
Saint  hath  reveal'd,  or  eye  beheld,  or  flame-tongued  prophet  sang." 

t 
Gates  were  unroU'd  of  iron  mould — a  dismal  dungeon  yawn'd  ! 
We  pass'd — we  stood — -'twas  hell  we  view'd  ! — eternity  had  dawn'd  I 
Space  on  our  sight  txirst  infinite — echoes  were  heard  remote  ; 
Shrieks  loud  and  drear  startled  our  ear,  and  stripes  incessant  smote. 

Onward  we  went.     The  firmament  "-as  starless  o'er  our  head. 
Spectres  swept  by  inquirhigly — clapping  their  hands  they  fled  ! 
Borne  on  the  blast  strange  whispers  pass'd  ;  and  ever  and  anon 
Athwart  the  plain,  like  hurricane,  God's  vengeance  v.-ould  come  on  ! 

Then  sounds,  breathed  low,  of  gentler  woe  soft  on  our  hearing  stole  ; 
Captives  so  meek  fain  would  I  seek  to  comfort  and  Console  : 
"  O  let  us  pause  and  learn  the  cause  of  so  much  grief,  and  why 
Saddens  the  air  of  their  despair  the  unavailing  sigh  1  " 

"  My  son  !  Heaven  grants  them  utterance  in  plaintive  notes  of  woe  ; 
In  tears  their  grief  may  find  relief,  but  hence  they'never  go. 
Fools  !  they  believed  that  if  they  lived  blameless  and  vice  eschew'd, 
God  would  dispense  with  excellence,  and  give  beatitude. 

They  died  !  but  naught  of  virtue  brought  to  win  their  Maker's  praise  ; 
No  deeds  of  worth  the  page  set  forth  that  chronicled  their  days. 
Fix'd  is  their  doom — eternal  gloom  !  to  mourn  for  v.hat  is  past, 
And  weep  aloud  amid  that  crowd  with  whom  their  lot  is  cast. 

One  fate  they  share  with  spirits  fair,  who,  when  rebellion  shook 
God's  holy  roof,  remain'd  aloof,  nor  part  whatever  took ; 
Drew  not  the  sword  against  their  Lord,  nor  yet  upheld  his  throne  : 
Could  God  for  this  make  perfect  bliss  theirs  when  the  fight  was  won? 

The  world  knows  not  their  dreary  lot,  nor  cr.n  assuage  their  pangs. 
Or  cure  the  curse  of  fell  remorse,  or  blunt  the  tiger's  fangs. 
Mercy  disdains  to  loose  tlieir  chains — the  hour  of  grace  has  been  ! 
Son  !  let  that  class  unheeded  pass — unv.ept,  though  not  unseen." 


I 


The  very  singular  and  striking  moral  inculcated  by  Dante  in  this  episode, 
where  he  consigns  to  hopeless  misery  those  "good  easy  souls"  who  lead  a 
worthless  career  of  selfishness,  and  are,  as  we  express  it  familiarly  in  Ireland, 
neither  good  for  "King  nor  country,"  is  deserving  of  serious  attention,  and 
contains  in  its  simple  exposition,  . 

I\Iuch  that  may  give  us  pause,  If  ponder'd  fittingly." 

From  Dante's  "  Hell,"  the  transition  to  the  "  V\lg  of  Father  Roger  Bosco- 
vich  "  may  appear  abrupt ;  but  I  never  terminate  a  paper  in  gloomy  or  doleful 
humour.  Wherefore  I  wind  up  this  first  dissertation  on  Italian  song  by  a 
specimen  of  playful  poetr}-,  taken  from  a  ver^,^  scarce  work  printed  at  Venice  in 
1804,  and  entitled  "  Le  Opere  Poetiche  dell'  Abate  Giulio  Cesare  Ccrdara," 
ex-Jesuit,  who  had  been  before  the  suppression  ex-historiographer  to  the  Society, 
and  connected  by  long  friendship  with  liis  confrere,  the  scientific  and  accom- 
plished Boscovich,  concerning  whom  there  is  a  short  notice,  if  I  recollect  rightly, 
in  one  of  my  papers  entitled  "  Literature  and  the  Jesuits,"  to  v/hich  I  refer  my 
reader,  should  he  be  inclined  to  know  more  about  the  proprietor  of  the  wig 
in  question.  Nor  will  a  Latin  translation  of  thisyV«  d esprit  be  unacceptable, 
I  trust,  to  lovers  of  polyglot  poetry. 


ALLA  PERRUCCAJ)EL  PADRE  RUGGERO  BOSCOVICH. 

Capitolo  dal  Gestiita  GUilio  Cardura,  dei  Cofiti  de  Calaniandra. 

O  crine,  6  crin  che  un  di  fosti  stromento 

Di  folli  amori,  e  sol  femmiaea  cura. 
Or  sei  del  mio  Rugger  strano  ornamento  ; 

Conosci  tu  r  eccelsa  tua  ventura, 
E  ti  saresti  mai  immaginato 
Di  fare  al  mondo  una  si  gran  figura  ? 

Qual  che  si  fosse  11  capo  in  cui  sei  nato, 

Fo5se  pur  di  leggiadro  e  nobil  volte, 
Certo  non  fosti  mai  tanto  onorato. 

Di  vaga  donna  in  fronte  eri  piu  colto  ; 
jNIa  i  di  passavi  neghittosi  e  \'ili 
A  un  lucido  cristallo  ognor  rivolto. 

'  Sol  pensier  vani,  e  astuzie  femminili 
Coprivi  allor,  e  insidiosa  rete 
Co"  tuoi  forma\-i  innaneilati  fili. 

Quando  costretto  le  fullie  consuete 

A  sentir  d'  un'  amante  che  delira,  J 

Quando  smanie  a  veder  d'  ire  inquiete.  ' 

i 

Fcrse  talor  ti  si  av\-ento  con  ira  { 

A  scapigliarti  un'  invida  rivale,  '1 

Come  femmina  suol  quando  s'  adira  ;  \ 

Infin,  nido  di  grilli  originale,  \ 

Testimonio  di  frodi  e  di  menzogne, 
T'  aveva  fatto  il  tuo  destin  fatale. 

Xe  i  fior  vermigli  e  1'  odorate  sogne, 

Xe  la  Candida  polve,  ond'  eri  asperse, 
Faeean  compenso  a  tante  tue  vergogne. 

Ma  come  fatto  sei  da  te  diverse, 
E)acche  reciso  dalla  vil  cervice, 
Di  non  tuo  capo  in  crin,  fo  sti  converso. 


228  The  Works  of  Father  Proitt. 


Yx\  tutte  le  perrucche  or  sei  felice, 

Che  sebben'  torta,  incolta,  e  mal  contesta, 
(Come  pur  troppo  immaginar  ne  lice), 

Puoi  perb  gloriarti,  e  fame  festa 
Che  altra  non  fu  giammai  dal  ciel  eletto 
A  ricoprir  si  veneranda  testa  ! 

ODE  TO  THE  WIG  OF  FATHER  BOSCOVICH, 

THE   CELEBRATED   ASTRONOMER, 

By  Giulio  Cordara,  Soc.  Jesii. 

With  awe  I  look  on  that  peruke. 

Where  Learning  is  a  lodger, 
And  think,  whene'er  I  see  that  hair 
Which  now  you  wear,  some  ladye  fair 

Had  worn  it  once,  dear  Roger  ! 

On  empty  skull  most  beautiful 

Appear 'd,  no  doubt,  those  locks, 
Once  the  bright  grace  of  pretty  face  ; 
Now  far  more  proud  to  be  allow'd 

To  deck  thy  "  knowledge-box." 

• 
Condemn'd  to  pass  before  the  glass 

Whole  hours  each  blessed  morning,  ' 

'Twas  desperate  long,  with  curling-tong 
And  tortoise-shell,  to  have  a  belle 

Thee  frizzing  and  adorning. 

Bright  ringlets  set  as  in  a  net, 

To  catch  us  men  like  fishes ! 
Your  every  lock  conceal'd  a  stock 
Of  female  wares — love's  pensive  cares, 

■Vain  dreams,  and  futile  wishes  ! 

That  chcvehire  has  caused,  I'm  sure, 

Full  many  a  lovers'  quarrel ; 
Then  it  was  deck'd  with  flowers  select 
And  myrtle-sprig  :  but  now  a  wig, 

'Tis  circled  with  a  laurel  ! 

Where  fresh  and  new  at  first  they  grew. 
Of  whims,  and  tricks,  and  fancies, 

Those  locks  at  best  were  but  a  nest : — 

Their  being  spread  on  learned  head 
Vastly  their  worth  enhances. 

From  flowers  exempt,  uncouth,  unkempt- 
Matted,  entangled,  thick  ! 
IMourn  not  the  loss  of  curl  or  gloss — 
'Tis  ittfra  dig.     Thou  art  THE  WIG 
Of  Roger  Boscovich  ! 


DE  FICTA  COMA  ROGERI  BOSCOVICHII. 

Elcgia. 

Caesaries  !  v.inum  vesani  nuper  amorls 
Forsitan  iilicium,  curaque  fucminea, 

Grande  mei  nuper  gestamen  facta  Rogeri, 
Novisti  an  sortis  fala  secunda  tuse? 


TJie  Songs  of  Italy.  229 


Sperastine  istud  laudis  contingere  culmen, 
Mortalesque  inter  tain  fore  conspicua? 

Culta  magis  fueras  intonsse  in  fronte  puellss, 
Sed  toti  suenint  turpiter  ire  dies  ; 

Tunc  coram  speculo  contorta,  retorta  gemebas, 
Dum  per  mille  modos  futile  pergit  opus. 

Nunc  meliore  loco  (magnum  patris  omamentum), 
Esto  sacerdotis,  non  muliebris,  honos  ! 

O  quoties  ferro  immiti  vabrata  dolebas, 
Ut  fieres  vafras  cassis  ad  insidias  ! 

Audisti  quoties  fatui  deliria  amantis, 
Vidisti  et  csecus  quidquid  ineptit  amor  ! 

Forsan  et  experta  es  furias  rivalis  amicae, 
Dum  gravis  in  cirros  insilit  ira  tuos. 

Quippe  tuum  fuerat  lugubre  ab  origine  fatuiS, 
Esses  ut  tegmen  fraudibus  atque  dolis, 

Utque  fores  nidus  gerris  male  plenus  ineptis. 
Tale  ministerium  fata  dedere  tibi ; 

Nee  compensabant  dirae  mala  sortis  odores, 
Unguenta,  et  pul\-is  vel  nive  candidior. 

Nunc  data  tam  docto  munimen  forte  cerebro. 
Sis  impexa  licet,  sis  licet  horriduia, 

Sume  triumphatrix  animos  hinc  jure  superbos. 
Quod  tantum  foveas  ambitiosa  caput ! 

There  is  extant  among  the  poems  of  Cordara  a  sad  lamentation,  occasioned 
by  the  fact  of  this  wig  having  been  sold,  after  Boscovich's  death,  to  a  Jew 
broker — 

"  Venduta,  o  caso  perfido  e  reo  ! 
Per  quindici  bajocchi,  ad  un  Hebreo  !  " 

from  whom  it  was  purchased  by  a  farmer,  and  ultimately  fixed  on  a  pole,  in  a 
cabbage-garden,  to  fright  the  birds,  ''per  spaventar  gll  iiccdli." — But  I  feel 
an  unusual  drowsiness  to-night,  and  cannot  pursue  the  subject.  Molly  !  bring 
my  nightcap ! 


230  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


XII. 

{Frascrs  Magazine,  March,  1835.) 


[The  number  of  Regina  containing  Prout's  second  and  concluding  batch  of  the  Songs 
of  Italy,  gave  as  the  fifty-eighth  Literary  Portrait,  Croquis'  delightful  picture  of  Pierre 
Jean  Beranger,  seated  in  slippered  ease  by  his  fireside,  with  grapes,  and  pineapples, 
and  wine  on  the  table  at  his  elbow — altogether  presenting  him  to  view  very  much  as  the 
Editor  of  the  present  volume  has  described  him  elsewhere  \see  "  Footprints  on  the 
Road,"  p.  51),  as  he  might  well  be  imagined,  with  fairies  playing  at  hide-and-seek 
between  his  slippers,  or  a  stray  Cupid  secreting  itself  on  the  sly  in  one  of  his  pockets, 
his  cheek  flushed  with  the  praise  rather  than  with  the  quaffing  of  the  delicious  draughts 
of  the  love,  wine,  and  glor>'  he  had  sung  of:  that  old  man  in  the  old  coat — slipshod  and 
bald-pated— being  the  song-writer  of  his  age,  the  boast  of  French  literature,  and  the 
darling  of  the  French  population.  Maclise's  portrait  of  Beranger  was  reprinted  from 
Eraser,  in  1S36,  as  an  appropriate  embellishment  to  the  tenth  Prout  Paper  on  the  first 
collective  publication  of  the  "  Reliques."  As  original  illustrations  to  the  present  twelfth 
instalment  of  the  posthumous  effusions  of  the  Parish  Priest  of  Watergrasshill,  the  same 
artist  depicted  first  of  all  how  ''  He  (the  Father)  dieth  and  is  chested" — Mahony  in  the 
picture  thus  entitled  being  represented  as  seated  in  his  library  by  the  side  of  the  wide- 
open  and  well-filled  coffer,  holding  in  his  hand  some  of  the  precious  manuscripts — his 
housekeeper  the  while  replenishing  from  the  kettle  a  capacious  jug  upon  a  table  laden 
with  fruit,  wine,  and  whisky  ;  while  in  another  drawing  the  draughtsman  revealed  "The 
Gift  of  Venus,"  to  wit,  the  presentation,  through  the  hand  of  Cupid,  of  a  swan-quill  to 
a  dreaming  lyrist.  ] 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  Sed  neque  Medorum  sylva;,  ditissima  terra, 
Nee  pulcher  Ganges,  atque  auro  turbidus  Hermus, 
Laudibus  Italiae  certent  •.  non  Bactra,  neque  Indi, 
Totaque  thuriferis  Panchaia  pinguis  arenis." — ViRG.  Georg.  II. 

We've  met  with  glees  "yrotn  the  Chinese  !"  translations  "  froin  tJie  Persian'," 

Sanscrit  we've  had,  from  Hydrabad,  Sir  William  Jones's  version. 

We've  also  seen  (in  a  magazine)  nice  jawbreakers  "y>v;//  Schiller;  " 

And  "tales"  by  folks,  who  give  us  "jokes,"  omitting  '^'/roni  Joe  JMillcr." 

Of  plain  broad  Scotch  a  neat  hotch-potch  Hogg  sends  us  from  the  Highlands. 

There  are  songs,  too,  "yroui  the  Hindu''  and  "fron  the  Sandivich  Islands." 

"lis  deemed  most  wise  to  patronize  Munchiiusen,  (joi'the,  Ossian  ; 

To  make  a  stand  for  "/iltherland,"  or  some  other  land  of  Goshen. 

Since  we  must  laud  things  from  abroad,  and  smile  on  foreign  capers, 

The  land  for  me  is  Italy,  with  her  SONGS  "y>-^w  the  Prout  Papers." — O.  Y. 

There  has  arisen  of  late  years  in  England  a  remarkable  predilection  for  the 
literature  of  the  continent.     The  establishment  of  that  e.\cellent  periodical  the 


Foreign  Quarterly  is  one  of  the  many  symptoms  of  tliis  chronic  distemper  of 
the  pubUc  mind  ;  and  the  statistic  returns  of  his  majesty's  custom-house,  pre- 
senting a  steady  progression  in  the  import  of  wit  and  thought  from  beyond 
seas,  though  highly  gratifying  to  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  have 
created  considerable  jealousy  among  our  starving  manufacturers  of  printed 
books  at  liome.  The  great  annual  fair  at  Leipsic  is,  we  are  sorry  to  state, 
drawing  more  and  more  the  attention  of  our  booksellers;  and  "the  Row"  is 
doonied  to  experience  all  the  manifold  and  often-commented-upon  grievance^ 
abuse,  and  abomination  of  a  "foreign  supremacy."  Xor  are  our  historians 
and  poets,  our  ai"tisans  in  the  novel-making  line  (male  and  female),  our  humble 
cobblers  at  the  dramatic  buskin,  and  our  industrious  hodn.'eTi  from  the  sister 
island  who  contribute  to  build  Cyclopaedias,  the  only  labouring  poor  thrown 
out  of  employment  by  this  unjust  preference  bestowed  on  a  class  of  operatives 
totally  unknov.  n  to  the  trade  ;  but  even  our  brothers  in  poverty  and  genius, 
the  old  English  ballad-singers,  blind  fiddlers,  and  pipers,  have  been  compelled 
to  give  place  to  the  barrel-organ,  a  mere  piece  of  machiner}^  which  has  super- 
seded industry  and  talent.  1  he  patronage  of  the  rich  no  longer  fiov.s  into  the 
accustomed  and  recognized  channels ;  the  old  national  claimants  on  public 
generosity,  sailors  with  wooden  legs  and  broken-do\\^l  "  match-venders,"  have 
given  way  to  Polish  "  Counts"  and  Bavarian  "■  brGo:n-girls."  This  is  a  deplor- 
able state  of  things,  but  nevertheless  a  true  picture. 

Matters  must  have  gone  hard  with  Tom  Moore,  since  we  learn  v»ith  deep 
feelings  of  compassion  that  he  is  driven  to  compile  a  "  History  of  Ireland  ;  " 
ostensibly  for  Dinny  Lardner's  "  Cyclopredia, "  but  we  fear  eventually  for  the 
grocers.  Theodore  Hook  is  determined  to  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,  and 
has  taken  "  the  Bull"  by  the  horns  :  we  are  to  have  three  vols.  8vo,  of  "  rost 
bif."  Alas,  Theodonck,  hast  thou  never  ruviinatcd  over  the  axiom  of  Boileau — 

"  Un  diner  rechauffe  ne  valut  jamais  rien  ?"  . 

Lady  Blessington  and  Lady  Morgan,  aware  of  the  prevailing  epidemic,  have 
just  now  come  out  with  sketches  of  continental  manners  :  the  former  graceful, 
dignified,  and  rational,  as  she  is  ever  wont ;  the  latter  flippant,  shallow,  and 
pedantic— incapable  of  appreciating  the  social  circle  abroad,  and  degrading  by 
vulgar  caricature  the  circle  from  which  she  sprang  at  home.  So  convinced  is 
our  friend  Tom  Campbell  of  the  utter  hopelessness  of  giving  to  public  taste 
any  other  save  a  foreign  direction,  that  he  has  gone  to  Algiers  determined  on 
exploring  the  recondite  literature  of  the  Bedouins.  We  understand  that  he 
has  made  surprising  progress  in  the  dialects  of  Fez,  Tunis,  and  Mauritania ; 
and  that,  like  Ovid  among  the  Scythians,  he  has  astonished  the  natives  with 
his  proficiency — 

"  Jarn  didici  Getice  Sarmaticeque  loqui." 

Fears  are  entertained  lest  he  may  venture  too  far  into  the  interior  of  the 
country,  and  become  a  captive  to  some  barbarian  prince,  who  may  detain  him 
as  a  laureate.  \\'e  hope  not.  Our  partiality  for  so  pleasing  an  author  gene- 
rates no  wish  to  hear  of  his  being  "  bound  in  ^lorocco." 

And  still  even  the  taste  for  foreign  belles  letfrcs  is  stthject  to  variation  and 
vncissitude.  The  gorgeous  imaginings  of  oriental  fancy,  of  which  the  "Arabian 
Nights'  Entertainments"  and  the  elegant  eclogues  of  Collins  were  the  dawn,  have 
had  their  day  :  the  sun  of  the  East  has  gone  down  in  the  western  tale  of  the 
f\i:e-7vorshif>pers  to  rise  no  more.  A  surfeit  is  the  most  infallible  cure  for  an 
inordinate  love  of  sugar-plums ;  and  when  we  recollect  the  voracity  with  which 
' '  Lalla  Rookh  "  was  at  first  devoured,  and  the  subsequent  disrelish  of  the  ' '  read- 
ing public"  for  that  most  luscious  volume,  we  become  convinced  that  authors 
have  to  cater  for  the  cravings  of  an  overgrown  child,  waxing  capricious  from 


232 


TJie  Works  of  FatJicr  Front. 


indulgence,  and  ever  calling  out  for  change.  There  is  an  end  t6  the  run  of 
popufaritv  once  enjoyed  bv  camels,  houris,  bulbuls,  silver  bells,  silver  veils, 
cinnamon  groves,  variegated  lamps,  and  such  other  stock  items  as  made  up  the 
oriental  show-box.  This  leads  to  a  melancholy  train  of  thought  :  we  sometimes 
detect  ourselves  "wandering  in  dreams  "  to  that  period  of  our  schoolboy  remi- 
niscences when  Tommy  was  in  high  feather,  a  poetical  vara  avis— 

"And  oft  when  alone  at  the  close  of  the  year, 
We  think,— Is  the  nightingale  singing  there  jW?  _^ 
Are  the  roses  still  sweet  by  the  calm  Bendemeer  ?  " 

He  has  since  tried  his  hand  at  Upper  Canada  and  Lower  Egypt— he  has  spent 
some  "evenings  in  Greece;  but  "disastrous  twilight"  is  fast  approaching,  and 
the  "  chain  of  silence  "  (whatever  that  ornament  may  be)  hangs  over  him._  _ 

We  would  recommend  a  joint-stock  association  of  poor  and  enterprising 
authors,  for  the  purpose  of  exploring  that  unvisited  portion  of  the  north-eastern 
hemisphere  lying  between  the  wall  of  China  and  the  Arctic  circle.  The  ''liter- 
ature of  the  Calmuck  Tartars  "  would  not  fail  to  become  a  general  favourite  ; 
and  the  tide  of  patronage,  which  under  the  influence  of  the  Foreign  Quarterly 
has  been  flowing  towards  New  Zealand  and  Polynesia,  might  perhaps  in  the 
ebbings  of  that  capricious  flood  visit  the  MSS.  of  Thibet  and  the  elucubrations 
of  poets  in  Kamskatka.  "  Horce  Sinicse  "  found  favour  in  the  "barbarian  eye ;  " 
and  Viscount  Kingsboro'  has  been  smitten  with  the  brunette  muses  of  Mexico. 
Lord  Byron  set  up  "  Hebrew  Melodies,"  and  had  a  season  of  it ;  but  Murray 
was  soon  compelled  to  hang  the  noble  poet's  Jew's  harp  on  the  willows 
of  modern  Babvlon.  We  recollect  when  there  was  a  rage  for  German  and 
High  Dutch  poetry.  The  classics  of  Greece  and  Rome,  with  their  legitimate 
des^cendants,  those  of  France,  Italy,  and  England,  were  flung  aside  for  the 
writers  of  Scandinavia  and  the  poets  of  the  Danube.  Tired  of  nectar  and 
ambrosia,  my  public  sat  down  to  a  platter  of  sourcrout  with  Kant,  Goethe, 
and  Klopstock.  The  crude  chimasras  of  transcendental  and  transrhenane  phi- 
losophy found  admirers  !— 'twas  the  reign  of  the  nightmare— 

"  Omnigenumque  Deum  monstra,  et  latrator  Anubis, 
Contra  Neptunum  et  Venerem,  contraque  Minervam." — JEticid.  VIII. 

But  latterly  Teutonic  authors  are  at  a  sad  discount ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  Ger- 
manic confederacy  of  quacks  and  dunces,  common  sense  has  resumed  its 
empire.  Not  that  we  object  to  the  introduction  of  foreign  literature  amongst 
us,  provided  we  get  productions  of  genius  and  taste  :  far  from  considering  it 
as'derogatory  to  the  national  pride,  we  hail  the  strangers  with  enthusiastic 
welcome.  The  Romans  in  their  palmiest  day  of  conquest  gave  a  place  in  the 
Pantheon  to  the  gods  of  each  province  they  had  added  to  their  empire ;  but 
they  took  care  to  select  the  most  graceful  and  godlike  of  these  foreign  deities, 
eschewing  whatever  was  monstrous,  and  leaving  to  the  natives  the  comfort  of 
possessing  each  idol  too  ugly  to  figure  in  company  with  Apollo.  Turn  we  now 
to  Prout  and  his  gleanings  in  the  fertile  field  of  his  selection,  "HesperiCiin 
magn6J' 

OLIVER  YORKE. 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  233 

Watergrasshill,  Feb.  1S30. 

I  resume  to-night  the  pleasing  topic  of  Italian  minstrelsy.  In  conning  over 
a  paper  on  this  subject  penned  by  me  a  few  evenings  ago,  I  do  not  feel,  on 
second  perusal,  quite  satisfied  with  the  tenor  of  my  musings  :  symptoms  of 
drowsiness  are  but  too  perceptible  in  that  performance  of  unhappy  memor}'. 
The  start  from  the  fountain  of  Vaucluse  was  pretty  fair  ;  but  after  gliding 
along  the  classic  Po  and  the  majestic  Tiber,  it  was  an  unseemly  termination  of 
the  devious  and  meandering  course  of  that  essay  to  engulf  itselT  in  the  cavity 
of  an  astronomer's  bob-wig.  The  peruke  of  Roger  Boscovich  was  an  unlucky 
"  ciil  lie  sac,"  into  which  I  must  have  strolled  under  some  somewhat  of  sinister 
guidance.  Did  Molly  put  an  extra  glass  into  my  vesper  bowl  ?  'Twas  a 
boisterous  night,  and  the  old  hag  might  have  justified  her  piafraus  by  that 
usual  canonical  plea,  the  "inclemency"  of  the  weather.  For  the  future  I'll  mix 
for  myself. 

When  the  frost  is  abroad  and  the  moon  is  up,  and  naught  disturbs  the 
serenity  of  this  mountain  wilderness,  and  the  bright  cheerful  burning  of  the 
fragrant  turf-fire  betokens  the  salubrity  of  the  circumambient  atmosphere,  I 
experience  a  buoyancy  of  spirit  and  a  certain  intellectual  \igour  unknown  to 
the  grovelling  sensualist  or  the  decrepit  votary  of  fashion's  enervating  pursuits. 
To  them  rarely  does  it  occur  to  relish  that  highest  state  of  human  enjoyment, 
ex-pressed  with  a  curious  felicity  in  the  old  ecclesiastical  adage,  "  Mens  sana  in 
corpore  sano."  Their  nights  are  spent  "in  toys,  and  lust,  and  wine  ; "  but, 
could  they  relish  with  blind  old  Milton  the  nocturnal  visitings  of  poesy,  or  feel 
the  deep  enthusiasm  of  those  ancient  hermits  who  kept  the  desert  awake  with 
canticles  of  praise,  or  with  that  oldest  of  poets,  the  Arabian  Job,  commune 
with  heaven,  and  raise  their  thoughts  to  the  beneficent  Being  "  tcho  giveth 
So7igs  in  the  night"  {Job,  c.  xxxv.  v.  10),  they  would  acknowledge  that  mental 
luxuries  are  cheaply  purchased  by  the  relinquishment  of  grosser  delights,  and 
that  there  are  ecstasies  undreamt  of  in  their  Epicurean  philosophy.  A  Greek 
writer  (Eustathius)  gives  to  Night  the  epithet  of  EV(poovi],  or  "parent  of  happy 
thoughts ;  "  and  the  "  Xoctes  Atticas  "  of  Aulus  Gellius,  noble  prototype  of  the 
numerous  elucubrations  rejoicing  in  a  similar  title,  from  the  "  fni//e  et  nne 
?fn/ts  "  to  the  "  ?wfte  romane  al  sepolcro  degli  Scipioni,"  from  Young's  plaintive 
"  Xight  Thoughts"  to  the  "  Ambrosian  Gossip"  of  Timothy  Tickler, — all  bear 
testimony  to  the  genial  influence  of  the  stilly  hour.  The  solemn  bird  of  Minerva 
was  the  symbol  of  wisdom,  not  from  any  sagacious  manifestations  of  a  primo. 
facie  nature,  but  from  the  mere  circumstance  of  its  midnight  predilections,  and 
its  contempt  for  the  \11lgaritie5  of  day;  and  Horace  sighs  \\\\h  becoming 
emotion  when  he  calls  to  his  recollection  the  glorious  banquetings  of  thought 
and  genius  of  which  the  sable  goddess  was  the  ministrant.  O  nodes  cxnceque 
Deam  !  The  accomplished  Tertullian,  whose  writings  Tom  Moore  has  had  the 
impertinence  to  call  "harsh,  muddy,  and  unintelligible"  (because  above  his 
pigmy  comprehension),  tells  us,  in  the  second  chapter  of  the  immortal  "Apology" 
that  the  early  Christians  spent  the  night  in  pious  melodies,  and  that  mornmg 
often  dawned  upon  their  "  songs  " — antelucanis  horis  cancbant.  He  refers  to 
the  testimony  of  Pliny  (in  the  celebrated  letter  to  Proconsul  Trajan)  for  the 
truth  of  his  statement.  But,  with  all  these  matters  staring  him  in  the  face. 
Tommy,  led  away  by  his  universal  levity,  and  addressing  some  foolish  girl  as 
giddy  as  himself,  thinks  nothing  of  the' sinful  proposal  "  to  steal  a  few  hours 
from  the  night,  my  de.jr  !"  a  sacrilege  which,  in  his  eye,  no  doubt,  amounted 
only  to  a  sort  of  petty  larceny  ;  he  having  stolen,  in  the  course  of  his 
"rogueries,"  property  of  a  far  more  valuable  description.*  ,  But  Tom  Camp- 
bell, with  that  philosophic  turn  of  mind  for  which  he  is  so  remarkable,  con- 
nects the  idea  of  inspiration  with  the  period  of  "  sunset ;  "  the  evening  of  hfe, 

*  Vide  Prout,  in  loco,  passim. — O.  V. 


according  to  the  soothsayer  of  "  Lochiel,"  never  fails  to  bring  "  mystical  lore." 
Imprest  with  these  convictions,  the  father  of  Italian  song,  in  the  romantic 
dwelling  which  he  had  built  unto  himself  on  the  sloping  breast  of  the  Euga- 
neian  hills,  spent  the  decline  of  his  days  in  the  contemplation  of  loftiest  theeries, 
varying  his  nocturnal  devotions  with  the  sweet  sound  of  the  lute,  and  rapt  in 
the  alternate  elysium  of  piety  and  poetry.  In  these  ennobling  rapttires  he 
exhaled  the  sweet  perfume  of  his  mind's  immortal  essence,  which  gradually 
disengaged  itself  from  its  vase  of  clay.  To  use  the  beautiful  words  of  the 
elegiast  on  "  A  Country  Churchyard,"  "oblivion  stole  upon  his  vestal  lamp  :" 
and  one  morning  he  was  found  dead  in  his  library,  reclining  in  an  arm-chair, 
his  head  resting  on  a  book,  20th  July,  1374. 

I  know  not  whether  the  enviable  fate  of  Petrarcha  may  not  be  mine.  My 
career  has  pot  been  unlike  his,  as  the  revelations  of  yon  chest,  the  posthumous 
disclosures  of  my  history,  the  narrative  of  my  sojourn  in  France  and  Italy,  of 
my  early  affections  and  blighted  hopes,  may  one  day  make  manifest.  But, 
like  him,  I  find  in  literature  and  the  congenial  admi.xture  of  holier  meditations 
a  solace  and  comfort  in  old  age.  In  his  writings,  in  his  loves,  in  his  sorrow^s, 
in  the  sublime  aspirations  of  his  soul,  I  can  freely  sympathize.  Laura  is  to  me 
the  same  being  of  exalted  excellence  and  cherished  purity ;  and,  in  echoing 
from  this  remote  Irish  hill  the  strains  of  his  immortal  lyre,  I  hope  to  share  the 
blessing  which  he  has  bequeathed  to  all  who  should  advance  and  extend  the 
fame  of  his  beloved  : 

"  Benedette  sian  le  voce  tante  ch'  io, 
Chiamando  il  nome  di  mia  donna  ho  sparte, 
E  benedette  sian'  tiiite  le  cliarte, 
Ove  io  fama  ne  acnuisto." 

If  my  "papers"  can  promote  his  wishes  in  this  respect,  I  shall  die  happy. 
Disengaged  from  all  the  ties  that  bind  others  to  existence,  solitary,  childless, 
unmolested  by  the  busy  cares  of  this  world,  wiiat  occupation  more  suitable  to 
my  remnant  of  life  could  I  possibly  adopt  than  the  exercise  of  memory  and 
mind  of  which  these  compositions  are  the  fruit?  When  I  shall  seek  my  lonely 
pillow  to-night,  after  "  outwatching  the  bear,"  when  exhausted  nature  will 
compel  me  to  terminate  this  second  chapter  of  Italian  reminiscences,  I  shall 
cheerfully  consign  another  document  to  "  the  chest,"  and  bid  it  go  rejoin  in  that 
miscellaneous  aggregate  the  numerous  mental  progeny  of  my  old  age.  This 
''chest"  may  be  the  coffin  of  my  thoughts  or  the  cradle  of  my  renown.  In  it 
my  meditations  may  be  nursed  and  matured  by  some  kind  editor  into  ultimate 
strength  and  manhood,  to  walk  the  worid  and  tell  of  their  parentage,  or  else  it 
may  prove  a  silent  sarcophagus,  where  tliey  may  moulder  in  gradual  decay, 
and  perish  witii  the  hand  that  traced  them  for  posterity.  But  in  either  case  I 
am  resigned.  I  envy  not  the  more  fortunate  candidates  for  public  favour  :  I 
hold  enmity  to  none.  And  as  for  my  readers,  if  I  have  any,  all  I  wish  or  expect 
on  tlieir  part  :s  that  they  may  exhibit  towards  a  feeble  garrulous  old  man  jthe 
sanv;  kindly  disposition  he  is  sure  he  feels  for  them.  '0<ti)i;  oiavoiav  tyio  cia- 
TiXut  tyuw  TToo?  Trai/Tts  vfxa^  ToartvTi]U  CLUTtXiaTai  uol  tt^ios  tovtovl  tov 
uyiiivcL.      (A)jf.ionO.  tteoi  (rTt(j)tv.) 

Thi-;  reference  to  the  beautiful  exordium  of  that  grand  masterpiece  of  Greek 
eloquence,  in  wliich  the  Athenian  orator  vindicates  his  title  to  the  crown  of 
gold  presented  by  liis  admiring  fellow-citizens,  leads  me  by  a  natural  transition 
to  a  very  memorable  event  in  Petrarchas  life,  that  splendid  ebullition  of 
n:itional  enthusiasm,  when  the  senators  of  Rome,  at  the  suggestion  of  Robert, 
King  of  Naples,  and  witli  the  applause  and  concurrence  of  all  the  free  states  of 
Italy,  led  the  poet  in  triumph  to  tiie  Roman  Capitol,  and  placed  on  his  venerable 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  -y^ 


-OD 


head  a  wreath  of  laurel.  The  coronation  of  the  laureate,  who  first  bore  the 
title,  and  first  received  that  proud  and  flattering  distinction,  is  too  important  a 
circumstance  to  be  lightly  glanced  at  in  a  paper  like  this.  The  ingenious  German 
novelist,  Madame  de  Stael  (a  lady  who  has  done  more  to  give  vogue  and 
cixrrency  to  her  country's  literature  than  the  whole  schiittery  of  Dutch  author- 
ship and  the  "  lauDcsfolQC"  of  Teutonic  writers),  in  her  beautiful  romance  of 
"Corinna,"  has  seized  with  avidity  on  the  incident,  and  has  made  it  one  of  the 
most  striking  features  of  her  narrative. 

Concerning  this  triumphant  reception  of  our  songster  by  the  Roman  people, 
and  his  solemn  incoronation  on  thar  rock  of  imperishable  glory,  Capitoli 
immobile  saxiim,  we  ha\e  from  the  pen  of  an  eye-witness.  Guv  d'Arezzo,  the 
most  circumstantial  details,  toid  in  style  most  quaint,  and  with  sundry  charac- 
teristic comments.  In  those  days  of  primeval  simplicity,  in  the  absence  of 
every  topic  of  excitement  (for  the  crusades  had  well  nigh  worn  themselves  out 
of  popular  favour),  the  novelty  and  eclat  attendant  on  this  occurrence  attracted 
the  attention  of  contemporary  quidnuncs,  and  the  proceedings  possessed  a  sort 
of  pLuropean  interest.  The  name  of  the  "  Laureate  "  (a  title  which,  after  cen- 
turies of  eventful  vicissitude,  is  now  worn  by  the  venerable  dweller  of  the  lakes, 
the  patriarch  Soutliey)  was  then  first  proclaimed,  amid  the  shouts  of  applauding 
thousands,  on  the  seven  hills  of  the  Eternal  City,  and  echoed  back  with  enthu- 
siasm from  the  remotest  corners  of  Christendom.  In  a  subsequent  age,  when 
the  same  honour,  with  the  same  imposing  ceremonial,  was  to  be  conferred  on 
Tasso,  I  doubt  wliether  the  event  would  have  enlisted  to  the  same  extent  the 
sympathies  of  Europe,  or  the  feelings  of  the  Italian  public.  It  were  bootless, 
however,  to  dwell  on  the  probabihties  of  tlie  case,  for  Death  interposed  his  veto, 
and  stretclied  out  his  bony  hand  between  the  laurel  wreath  and  the  poor  maniac's 
brow,  who,  on  the  very  eve  of  the  day  fixed  for  his  ovation,  expired  on  the 
Janiculum  hill,  in  the  romantic  hermitage  of  St.  Onuphrio.  Oft  have  I  sat 
under  that  same  cloister  wall,  where  he  loved  to  bask  in  the  mild  ray  of  the 
setting  sun,  and  there,  with  Rome's  awful  volume  spread  out  before  me, 
pondered  on  the  frivolity  of  fame.  The  ever-enduring  vine,  with  its  mellow 
freight  dependent  from  the  antique  pillars,  clustered  above  my  head;  while  at 
my  feet  lay  the  flagstone  that  once  covered  his  remains;  and  "  OssA  ToRQUATi 
Tasso,"  deep  carved  on  the  marble  floor,  abundantly  fed  the  meditative  mind. 
Petrarcha's  grave  I  had  previously  visited  in  the  mountain  hamlet  of  Arqua, 
during  my  rambles  through  Lombardy ;  and  while  I  silently  recalled  the  in- 
scription thereon,  I  breathed  for  both  the  prayer  that  it  contains — 

"  Frigida  Francisci  tegit  hic  lapis  ossa  Petrarc.c 
sfscipe  virgo  parens  aximam  !  s.ate*  virgine  parce  ! 

FeSSAQUE   jam    TERKIS,   CCELI    KEQUIESCAT    IN'    ARCE." 

But  a  truce  to  this  moralizing  train  of  thought,  and  turn  v;e  to  the  gay  scene 
described  by  Guy  d'Arezzo.  Be  it  then  understood,  that  on  the  morning  of 
Easter  Sunday,  April  15,  1341,  a  period  of  the  ecclesiastical  year  at  which 
crowds  of  pilgrims  visited  the  shrine  of  the  apostles,  and  Rome  was  thronged 
with  the  representatives  of  every  Christian  land,  after  the  performance  of  a 
solemn  high  mass  in  the  old  Basilica  of  St.  Peter's  (for  religion  in  those  days 
mixed  itself  up  with  every  pubhc  act,  and  sanctified  every  undertaking),  the 
decree  of  Robert,  King  of  Naples,  was  duly  read,  setting  forth  as  how,  after  a 
diligent  examination   and   trial  in  all  the  departments  of  poetry  and  all  the 

*  The  Rev.  Laurence  Sterne,  in  his  verj-  reputable  work  called  "  Tristram  Shandy," 
has  the  brazen  ettronterj-  to  translate  the  curse  of  Ernulphus,  £jir  autoritate  Dei  et 
Virs:i7iis  Dei  genctricis  Maricp,  "  By  the  authority  of  God  and  of  the  Virgin,  mother 
and  patroness  of  our  Saviour  ! "  thus  wilfully  perverting  and  distorting  the  original, 
to  insinuate  a  foolish  prejudice  against  a  class  of  fellow-Christians.  Fie,  Yorick ! — 
Prout. 


236  TJic  Works  of  Father  Front. 

accomplishments  of  elegant  literature,  in  addition  to  a  knowledge  most  exten- 
sive of  theology  and  history,  Francis  Petrarcha  had  evinced  unparalleled  profi- 
ciency in  all  the  recognized'  acquirements  of  scholarship,  and  given  undoubted 
proofs  of  ability  and  genius  ;  wherefore,  in  his  favour,  it  seemed  fit  and  becom- 
ing that  the  proudest  mark  of  distinction  known  among  the  ancient  Romans 
should  be  conferred  on  him,  and  that  all  the  honours  of  the  classic  triumph 
should  be  revived  on  the  occasion.  It  will  be  seen,  however,  from  the  narra- 
tive of  Guy,  that  some  slight  variations  of  costume  and  circumstance  were  in- 
troduced in  the  course  of  the  exhibition,  and  that  the  getting  up  of  the  affair 
was  not  altogether  in  literal  accordance  with  the  rubrics  which  regulated  such 
processions  in  the  days  of  Paulus  .-Eniilius,  when  captive  kings  and  the  milk- 
white  bulls  of  Clytumnus  adorned  the  pageantry — 

'■  Romanos  ad  templa  Deum  duxere  triumphos." — Georg.  II. 

Here  are  some  details  from  the  Italian  chronicler,  descriptive  of  the  outfit 
and  robes  of  the  poet,  who  must  have  presented  a  strange  figuie  m  the  accou- 
trements allotted  to  him  : 

'•'They  put  on  his  right  foot  (Guy  loquiUcr)  a  sandal  of  red  leather,  cut  in  a  queer 
shape,  and  fastened  round  the  ankle  with  purple  ligatures.  This  is  the  way  tragic  poets 
are  shod.  His  left  foot  thej-  then  inserted  into  a  kind  of  buskin  of  violet  colour,  made 
fast  to  the  leg  with  blue  thongs.  This  is  the  emblem  worn  by  writers  in  the  comic  iine, 
and  those  who  compose  agreeable  and  pleasant  matters.  Violet  is  the  proper  colotu:  of 
love. 

"  Over  his  tunic,  which  was  of  grey  silk,  they  placed  a  mantle  of  velvet,  lined  with 
green  satin,  to  show  that  a  poet's  ideas  should  always  be  fresh  and  new.  Round  his 
neck  they  hung  a  chain  of  diamonds,  to  signify  that  his  thoughts  should  be  briUiant  and 
clear.     There  are  many  mysteries  in  poetrj'. 

"They  then  placed  on  his  head  a  mitre  of  gold  cloth,  tapering  upwards  in  a  conical 
shape,  that  the  wTeaths  and  garlands  might  be  more  easily  worn  thereon.  It  had  two 
tails,  or  skirts,  falling  behind  on  the  .'shoulders  like  the  mitre  of  a  bishop.  There  hung  by 
his  side  a  Ij-re  (which  is  the  poet's  instrument)  suspended  from  a  gold  chain  of  interwoven 
figures  of  snakes,  to  give  him  to  understand  that  his  mind  must  figuratively  change  its 
skin,  and  constantly  renew  its  envelope,  like  the  serpent.  When  they  had  thus  equipped 
him,  the}'  gave  him  a  young  maiden  to  hold  up  his  train,  her  hair  falling  loose  in  ringlets, 
and  her  feet  naked.  She  was  dressed  in  the  fur  of  a  bear,  and  held  a  lighted  torch. 
This  is  the  emblem  of  follj-,  and  is  a  constant  attendant  on  poets  1 " 

The  account  of  the  day's  proceedings  would  have  been  a  godsend  to  the 
penny-a-liners,  and  other  gentlemen  of  the  press  (if  such  a  thing  existed  in 
those  times),  far  more  fertile  in  incident  than  the  Lord  Mayor's  show,  or  the 
King's  going  down  .0  open  the  new  parliament.  It  appears,  too.  that  when 
"the  business  of  the  day"  was  over,  the  modem  fashion  of  winding  up  such 
displays  was  perfectly  well  understood  even  at  that  remote  period,  and  that  a 
capital  dinner  was  given  to  the  lion  of  the  hour  in  the  still  sumptuous  hall  of 
the  Palazzo  Colonna.  The  "feeding  time"  being  duly  got  through,  poetry 
and  music  closed  the  eventful  evening ;  and  the  same  trusty  reporter  from 
whom  I  have  borrowed  the  above  particulars,  informs  us  that  Petrarcha 
delighted  his  noble  host  and  the  assembled  rank  and  fashion  of  Rome  by 
dancing  a  Moorish  "  pas  seul  "  with  surpassing  grace  and  agility.  This  is  a  part 
of  the  ceremony  which  it  may  be  advisable  to  revive  now-a-days,  when  public 
entertainments  are  given  to  distinguished  characters  in  the  political  world. 
Many  of  these  honourable  guests  would  be  found  fully  adequate  to  the  task, 
being  for  the  most  part  skilled  in  that  branch  of  the  saltatory  art  called  the 
"pirouette." 

Covered  with  honours  and  flushed  with  the  applause  of  his  fellow-country- 
men, the  father  of  Italian  song  was  not  insensible  to  the  fascinations  of  literary 
renown,  nor  deaf  to  the  whisperings  of  glorj- ;  but  love,  tiie  most  exalted  and 
refined,  was  still  the  guiding  star  of  his  path  and  the  arbiter  of  his  destiny.  He 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  237 

has  left  the  avowal  himself,  in  that  beautiful  record  of  his  inmost  feelings  which 
he  has  entitled  "  Secretum  Francisci  Petrarchan,  "  where,  in  a  fancied  dialogue 
with  the  kindred  soul  of  St.  Augustin,  he  pours  forth  the  fulness  of  his  heart 
with  all  the  sincerity  of  nature  and  of  genius.  In  the  midst  of  his  triumph  his 
thoughts  wandered  away  to  the  far  distant  object  of  his  affection;  and  his 
mind  was  at  \'aucluse  while  the  giddy  throng  of  his  admirers  showered 
garlands  and  burnt  incense  around  his  person.  He  fondly  pictured  to  himself 
the  secret  pride  which  the  ladye  of  his  love  would  perhaps  feel  in  hearing  of 
his  fame  ;  and  the  laurel  was  doubly  dear  to  him,  because  it  recalled  her 
cherished  name.  The  utter  hopelessness  of  his  passion  seemed  to  shed  an 
undefined  hallowedness  over  the  sensations  of  his  heart  ;  and  it  must  be  in 
one  of  those  moments  of  tender  melancholy  that  he  penned  the  following  grace- 
ful, but  mysterious,  narrative  of  a  supposed  or  real  apparition. 

SONETTO. 

Una  Candida  cerva  sopra  I'herba 
Verde  m'  apparve  con  duo  coma  d'  oro, 
Fra  due  riviere  a  1'  ombra  d'  un  alloro 
Levando  il  sol  a  la  stagion  acerba- 

Era  sua  vista  si  dolce  superba 
Ch'  i'  lasciai  per  seguirla  ogni  lavorc, 
Come  r  avaro  che  'n  cercar  thesoro 
Con  diletto  1'  aflanno  desacerba. 

"  Nessun  mi  tocchi,"  al  bel  collo  d'  intomo 
Scritto  havea  di  diamanti  e  di  topati 

"LiBERO    FARMI  AL  MIO  CeSARE  PARVE." 

Ed  era  il  sol  gia  volte  al  mezzogiomo 
Gli  occhi  miei  stanchi  di  mirar  non  sati^ 
Quand  io  caddi  nel'  aqua,  ed  ella  sparve. 

THE  VISION  OF  PETRARCHA. 

A  form  I  saw  widi  secret  awe — nor  ken  I  what  it  warns  ; 
Pure  as  the  snow,  a  gentle  doe  it  seemed  with  silver  horns, 
Erect  she  stood,  close  by  a  wood  between  two  running  streams  ; 
And  brightly  shone  the  morning  sun  upon  that  land  ot  dreams  ! 

The  pictured  hind  fancy  designed  glowing  with  love  and  hope. 
Graceful  she  stept,  but  distant  kept,  like  the  timid  antelope  ; 
Playful,  yet  coy— with  secret  joy  her  image  filled  my  soul ; 
And  o'er  the  sense  soft  influence  of  sweet  oblivion  stole. 

Gold  I  beheld  and  emerald  on  th€  collar  that  she  wore  ; 

Words  too— but  theirs  were  characters  of  legendary  lore  : 

"  Caesar's  decree  hath  made  me  free  ;  and  thro'  his  solemn  charge, 

Untouched  by  men  o'er  hill  and  glen  I  wander  here  at  large."  ■ 

The  sun  had  now  with  radiant  brow  climbed  his  meridian  throne, 

Yet  still  mine  eye  untiringly  gazed  on  that  lovely  one. 

A  voice  was  heard— quick  disappeared  my  dream.     The  spell  was  broken. 

Then  came  distress — to  the  consciousness  of  life  1  had  awoken  ! 

Still  the  soul  of  Petrarch  was  at  times  accessible  to  sterner  impressions.  The 
call  of  patriotism  never  failed  to  find  a  responsive  echo  in  the  breast  of  Italy  s 
most  distinguished  son  ;  and  when,  at  the  death  of  Benedict  ^XI I.,  which 
occurred  at  this  juncture,  there  arose  a  favourable  chance  of  sening  ms 
country,   by  restoring  the  papal  residence  to  the  widowed  city  of  Rome,  he 


238 


The   Works  of  FatJicr  Prout. 


eagerly  offered  himself  as  one  of  the  deputies  to  proceed  to  Avignon  for  the 
accomplishment  of  this  wished-for  consummation.  Whether  a  secret  anxiety 
to  revisit  the  scene  of  his  early  affections,  and  to  enjoy  once  more  the  presence 
of  his  mistress,  may  have  mixed  itself  up  with  the  aspirations  of  patriotism,  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  decide,  but  he  entered  into  the  project  with  all  the  warmth 
of  a  devoted  lover  of  Italy.  His  glorious  dythyrambe  to  that  delightful,  but 
conquered  and  divided  land,  so  often  quoted,  translated,  and  admired,  is 
sufficient  evidence  of  his  sentiments  :  but  he  has  taken  care  to  put  the  matter 
beyond  doubt  in  his  vigorous  pamphlet,  De  libcrtatc  capcssendiX  exhortatio  ad 
Nicola  urn  Laurentlinn.  This  "Nicholas"  v/as  no  other  than  the  famous 
tribune  Rienzi,  who,  mainly  excited  by  the  prose  as  v.ell  as  the  poetry  of 
Petrarch,  raised  the  standard  of  independence  against  the  petty  tyrants  of  the 
Eternal  City  in  1345,  and  for  a  brief  space  rescued  it  from  thraldom. 

Poetr}'  IS  the  nurse  of  freedom.  From  Tyrteus  to  Beranger,  the  muse  has 
befriended  through  every  age  the  cause  of  liberty.  Ihe  pulse  of  patriotism 
never  beats  with  bolder  throb  than  when  the  sound  of  martial  song  swells  in  the 
full  chorus  of  manly  voices  ;  and  it  was  in  a  great  measure  the  rude  energy  of 
the  "Marseillaise"  that  won  for  the  ragged  and  shoeless  grenadiers  of  the 
Convention  the  victories  of  Valmy  and  Jemmappe.  In  our  own  country,  Dib- 
din's  naval  odes,  full  of  inspiriting  thought  and  sublime  imager}',  have  not  a 
little  contributed  to  our  mamtaining  in  perilous  times  the  disputed  empire  of  the 
ocean  agamst  Napoleon.  Never  was  a  pension  granted  with  more  propriety 
than  the  tribute  to  genius  voted  in  this  case  at  the  recommendation  of 
George  III.  ;  and  I  suppose  a  similar  reward  has  attended  the  authors  of  the 
"  Mariners  of  England,"  "The  Battle  of  Copenhagen,"  and  "  The  Sea  !  the 
Sea  !"  If  not,  it  is  a  crying  disgrace  to  the  country.  As  we  have  come 
insensibly  to  the  topic  of  maritime  minstrelsy,  I  imagine  that  a  specimen  of  the 
stuff  sung  by  the  Venetian  sailors,  at  the  time  when  that  Queen  of  the  Adriatic 
reigned  over  the  waters,  may  not  be  uninteresting.  The  subject  is  the  naval 
victory  which,  at  the  close  of  the  fourteenth  century,  broke  the  colossal  power 
of  the  Sublime  Porte;  for  which  occurrence,  by  the  bye,  Europe  was  mainly 
indebted  to  the  exertions  of  Pope  Pius  \'.  and  the  prowess  of  one  Miguel 
Cervantes. 

BARZELLETTA  DA  CAXTAR  PER  LA  VITTORIA  DI  LEPAXTO. 


Cantiam  tutti  allegramente 
Or.iU  putti  attentamente 
Cantiam  tutti  la  rovina 
Ch'  alia  gente  Saracina 
Dato  tra  Dio  si  fortemente, 

Cantiam  tutti  allegramen     te 
Che  con  straccio  al  fier  dragone 
Squarcio  il  fronte  si  crudele 
Che  mai  piu  drizzera  vele 
Che  nel  mar  sia  si  possente. 

Cantiam  tutti  allegramente 
Cantiam  putti  pur  ognora 
Ch'  il  ladron  di  Caracossa 
Fatt'  a  r  aqua-salsa  rossa 
Del  suo  sangue  di  serpente. 

Cantiam  putti  allegramente 
I>i  tre  sei  d'  ottoe  di  venti 
(iaieotte  e  altri  legni 
W\  il  fracasso — o  Turchi  degni 
Del  gran  fuoco  etemamente  ! 


Cantiam  pur  allegramente 
Come  poi  piu  delle  venti 
Ne  fur  prese  cento  e  ottanta 
E  dei  morti  poi  sessanta 
Mila  e  piu  di  quella  gente. 

Cantiam  tutti  allegramente — 
]\Ia  ben  duolmi  a  dir  ch'  i  nostri 
Fur  da  sette  nila  ed  otto 
Ivi  morti  (se  '1  ver  nolo) 
Combattendo  audacemente. 

Cantiam  tutti  allegramente — 
Dopo  questi,  altri  guerrieri 
Vendicar  coU'  arme  in  mano 
Quell!  e  il  nom  Christiano 
Per  virtu  d'  Iddio  clemente. 

Cantiam  tutti  allegramente 
Per  cotal  vittoria  e  tanta 
Doveremmo  ogni  au  far  festa 
Per  che  al  mondo  altra  che  questa 
Non  fu  mai  d'  alcuno  in  mente. 


The  Songs  of  Italy,  239 


POPULAR  BALLAD  OX  THE  BATTLE  OF  LEPANTO. 

Let  us  sing  how  the  boast  of  the  Saracen  host 

In  the  Guif  of  Lepanto  was  scattered, 
WTien  each  knight  of  St.  John's  from  his  cannon  of  bronze 

With  grape-shot  their  argosies  battered  ; 
Oh  I  v.-e  taught  the  Turks  then  that  of  Europe  the  men 

Could  defy  ever>-  infidel  menace— 
And  that  still  o'er  the  main  float  the  galleys  of  Spain, 

And  the  red  lion  standard  of  Venice  ! 

Quick  we  made  the  foe  skulk,  and  we  blazed  at  each  hulk. 

While  they  left  us  a  splinter  to  fire  at ; 
And  the  rest  of  them  fled  o'er  the  y/aters,  blood  red 

With  the  gore  of  the  Ottoman  pirate  ; 
And  our  navy  gave  chase  to  the  infidel  race, 

Nor  allowed  them  a  moment  to  rally  ; 
And  we  forced  them  at  length  to  acknowledge  our  strength 

In  the  trench,  in  the  field,  in  the  galley  ! 

Then  our  men  gave  a  shout,  and  the  ocean  throughout 

Heard  of  Christendom's  triumph  with  rapture, 
Galeottes  eighty-nine  of  the  enemy's  line 

To  our  swift-sailing  ships  fell  a  capture  ; 
And  I  firmly  maintain  that  the  number  of  slain 

To  at  least  sixty  thousand  amounted  ; — 
To  be  sure  'twas  sad  work— if  the  life  of  a  Turk 

For  a  moment  were  worth  being  counted. 

We  may  well  feel  elate  ;  yet  I'ni  sorrj'  to  state, 

That  although  by  the  mj-riad  we've  slain  "em. 
Still  the  Sons  of  the  Cross  have  to  weep  for  the  loss 

Of  six  thousand  who  fell  by  the  Pa\-nim. 
Full  atonement  was  due  for  each  man  that  they  slew. 

And  a  hecatomb  paid  for  each  hero  ; 
But  could  all  that  we'd  kill  give  a  son  to  Castille, 

Or  to  Malta  a  brave  cavalhero  ? 

St.  ZMark  for  the  slain  intercedes  not  in  vain — 

There's  a  mass  at  each  altar  in  Venice  ; 
And  the  saints  we  implore  for  the  banner  they  bore 

Are  Our  Lady,  St.  George,  and  Si.  Denis. 
For  the  brave  while  we  grieve,  in  our  hearts  they  shall  live — 

In  our  mouths  shall  their  praise  be  incessant  ; 
And  again  and  again  we  will  boast  of  the  men 

Who  have  humbled  the  pride  of  the  Crescent. 

The  Venetians  have  been  ever  remarkable  for  poetic  taste ;  and  the  very 
humblest  classes  of  society  amongst  them  exhibit  a  fondness  for  the  great 
masters  of  their  native  language,  and  a  familiarity  with  the  glorious  effusions  of 
the  national  genius,  quite  unknown  in  the  corresponding  rank  of  tradesmen  and 
artisans  in  England.  Goldoni,  who  wrote  in  their  own  dialect,  knew  the  sort 
of  critics  he  had  to  deal  with ;  and  it  is  a  fact  that  the  most  formidable  judges 
of  dramatic  exce'ience  at  the  theatres  of  Venice  were  the  gondoliers.  Addison, 
or  rather  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  tells  us  a  droll  story  about  a  certain  trunkmaker,  who 
stationed  himself  in  the  gallery  of  Dniry  Lane,  and  with  a  whack  of  his  oaken 
cudgel  ratified  the  success  or  confirmed  the  downfall  of  each  new  tra.gic  per- 
formance. I  think  the  author  of  the  Spectator  must  have  had  the  original  hint 
of  that  anecdote  during  his  stay  at  Venice,  where  such  a  verdict  from  such  a 
quarter  was  a  matter  of  habitual  occurrence.  There  is  great  delicacy  of  feehng 
and  polish  of  expression  in  the  following  ingenious  popular  barcarolle  of 
Venetian  origin  : — 


240 


^hc  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


BARCAROLLE. 


Oh  pescator  dell'  onda, 

Fidelin, 
Vieni  pescar  in  qua 
Colla  bella  sua  barca. 
Colla  bella  se  ne  va, 
Fidelin,  lin,  la. 

Che  cosa  \'uoI,  ch'  io  peschi  ? 

Fidelin, 
L'  anel  che  m'  e  casca 
Colla  bella  sua  barca. 
Colla  bella  se  ne  va,  S:c. 

Ti  daro  cento  scudi, 

Fidelin, 
Sta  borsa  ricama 
Colla  bella  sua  barca 
Colla  bella  se  ne  va,  &c. 

Non  voglio  cento  scudi, 

Fidelin, 
Ne  borsa  ricama 
Colla  bella  sua  barca. 
Colla  bella  se  ne  va,  &c. 

Id  vo  un  basin  d'  amore, 

Fidelin, 
Che  quell  mi  paghera 
Colla  bella  sua  bocca. 
Colla  bella  se  ne  va,  &c. 


"  Pr'ythee,  young  fisherman,  come  ovs 
Hither  thy  light  bark  bring  ; 

Row  to  this  bank,  and  try  recover 
My  treasure — 'tis  a  ring  1  " 


The  fisher  boy  of  Como's  lake 
His  bonny  boat  soon  brought  her, 

And  promised  for  her  beauty's  sake 
To  search  beneath  the  water. 


"I'll  give  thee,"  said  the  ladye  fair. 
One  hundred  sequins  bright. 

If  to  my  villa  thou  wilt  bear, 
Fisher,  that  ring  to-night." 

"A  hundred  sequins  I'll  refuse 

When  I  shall  come  at  eve  : 
But  there  is  something,  if  you  choose, 

Ladye,  that  you  can  give  !  " 

The  ring  was  found  beneath  the  flood  ; 

Nor  need  my  lay  record 
What  was  that  ladj-es  gratitude. 

What  was  that  youth's  reward. 


A  Milanese  poet,  rejoicing  in  the  intellectual  patronymic  of  Nicodemo,  has 
distinguished  himself  in  a  different  species  of  composition,  viz,  the  heroic. 
There  is,  however,  I  am  free  to  confess,  a  rather  ungenerous  sort  of  exultation 
over  a  fallen  foe  perceptible  in  the  lyrical  poem  which  I  am  about  to  introduce 
for  the  first  time  to  a  British  public.  Dryden  has  very  properly  excited  our 
commiseration  for  the  "great  and  good  Darius,  deserted  in  his  utmost  need  by 
those  his  former  bounty  fed;"  but  far  different  are  the  sentiments  of  Signor 
Nicodemo,  who  does  not  hesitate  to  denounce  the  vanquished  in  no  very 
measured  terms  of  opprobrious  invective.  I  suspect  he  has  been  equally  pro- 
fuse of  lavish  encomium  during  its  prosperous  days  on  that  Power  which  he 
seeks  to  cover  with  derision  in  its  fall  :  and  I  need  not  add  that  I  totally  dissent 
from  the  political  opinions  of  the  author.  However,  let  the  gentle  reader  form 
his  own  estimate  of  the  poet's  performance. 


Lafuga  di  XaJ>oleone  Bicona- 
parte  senza  spada,  e  senza 
bastone,  e  senza  capello,  e 
fcrito  in  testo  ;  /'  acquistd 
fatto  dci  Prussiani  di  oro, 
nrgcnto,  brillianti,  c  di  suo 
inanto  ifnfieriali ;  e  final- 
men  te  ilfelice  ritorno  nella 
litta  di  Parigi  di  sua 
•.-aestd  Luigi  XVIII.  Di 
Xicodenio  Lcrmil. 

Ariadi  "  Malbrook." 

Gia  vinto  Napoleone, 
Con  fuga  desperata 
Fra  la  Prussiana  armata 
De  trapassar  tentb  ; 


A  t-nie  Ballad,  containiiig  the  Flight  of  Xapoleon 
Bonaparte,  luitk  the  loss  of  his  s7uord,  his  hat, 
afid  imperial  baton,  besides  a  looiind  in  the  head  ; 
the  good  luck  of  t/ie  Prussians  in  getting  hold  of 
his  valuables,  in  diamonds  and  other  property ; 
and,  lastly,  the  happy  entry  of  his  Majesty, 
Louis  Dixhuit,  into  Paris.  From  tlie  Italian  of 
Nicodemus  Lennii. 


Tune,  "  On  Linden  when" 

When  Bonaparte,  overcome, 

Fled  from  the  sound  of  Prussian  drum, 

Achast,  discomfited,  and  dumb. 

Wrapt  in  his  roquelaure 


Ma  sgombro  di  tesori, 
Deh  s  )  nei  disegni — 
Privo  d  impero  e  regni, 
Qual  naque,  ritorno. 

Afflitto  e  delirante, 
Confuso  e  sbi  gottito, 
Col  capo  suo  ferito 
II  misero  fuggi. 

Senza  poter  portarsi, 
Spada,  taston,  capello, 
Involto  in  un  mantello 
Da  tutt'  i  suoi  spari. 

Argento,  ore,  brillianti, 
II  manlo  suo  imperiale 
Con  gioia  universale 
Da  Prassi  s'  acquisto. 

]\Ia  non  pote  acquistarsi 
(Ben  che  non  v'  e  paura) 
L'  autor  d'  ogni  sventura 
Che  tutti  rovinu. 

Fugitto  Bonaparte, 
Subito  entrb  in  Parigi 
II  buon  sovran  Luigi 
Che  tutti  rallegro. 

Fu  la  citta  di  notte 
Da  ognuno  illuminata  ; 
Piu  vista  amena  e  grata 
Giammai  non  si  miro. 

Rembombo  de'  canoni, 
Acclamazion  di,  ewiva 
Per  tutto  se  sentiva 
Frequente  replicar. 

La  Candida  bandiera, 
Coi  gigli  che  teneva, 
Per  tutto  si  videva 
Piu  spesso  ventilar. 

Spettacolo  si  vago, 
Ricordo  si  giocondo, 
Parigi  Italia,  il  mondo, 
Fe  tutti  consolar. 

Perche  fuggi  ramingo, 
E  con  suo  deshonore, 
L'  indegno  usurpatore — 
E  non  puo  piu  regnar. 

IMurat  e  Napoleone 
Tenete  i  cuori  a  freno 
Non  vi  avvilite  alitieno 
Che  e  cosa  da  schiattar. 

]\Ia  si  desperazione 
INIai  vi  togliese  il  lume 
II  piu  vicino  fiume 
Potete  ritrovar. 


To  wealth  and  power  he  bade  adieu — 
Affairs  were  looking  mighty  blue  : 
In  emblematic  tatters  flew 

The  glorious  tricolor. 

What  once  had  seemed  fixt  as  a  rock, 
Had  now  received  a  fatal  shock  ; 
And  he  himself  had  got  a  knock 

From  a  Cossack  on  the  head  ! 

Gone  was  his  hat,  lost  was  his  hope  ; 
The  hand  that  once  had  smote  the  Pope, 
Had  even  dropped  its  telescope 

In  the  hurry  as  he  fled. 

Old  Blucher's  corps  a  capture  made 
Of  his  mantle,  sabre,  and  cockade  ;  ^ 

Which  in  "  Rag  Fair  "  would  "  from  the  trade ' 
No  doubt  a  trifle  fetch. 

But  tho'  the  Prussians  ('tis  confest) 
Of  ail  his  wardrobe  got  the  best 
(Besides  his  military  chest), 

Himself  they  could  not  catch. 

He's  gone  somewhere  beyond  the  seas 
To  expiate  his  rogueries  : 
King  Louis  in  the  Tuileries 

Has  recommenced  to  reign. 

Gladness  pervades  the  allied  camps. 
And  nought  the  public  triumph  damps  ; 
But  everj'  house  is  lit  with  lamps, 

Even  in  each  broken  pane. 

Paris  is  one  vast  scene  of  joy ; 

And  all  her  citizens  employ 

Their  throats  in  shouting  vive  le  roy. 

Amid  the  roar  of  cannon. 

Oh  !  when  they  saw  the  "  blaiic  dra/>eaii" 
Once  more  displayed,  they  shouted  so. 
You  could  have  heard  them  from  the  Po, 

Or  from  the  banks  of  Shannon. 

Gadzooks  I  it  was,  upon  my  fay, 
An  European  holiday  ; 
And  the  land  laughed,  and  all  were  gay 
Except  the  satis  culottes. 

You'd  see  the  people  playing  cards, 
And  gay  grisettes  and  dragoon  guards 
Dancing  along  the  boulevards — 

Of  brandy  there  was  lots '. 

Now  Bonaparte  and  INIurat, 

My  worthy  heroes  !  after  that, 

I'd  like  to  know  what  you'll  be  at — 

I  think  you  must  feel  nervous  ! 

Perhaps  you  are  not  so  besotted 
As  to  be  cutting  the  ''^carotid" — 
But  then— the  horsepond  !— there  I've  got  it  ! 
From  such  an  end  preserve  us 


If  this  poet  Xicodemo  be  in  reality  what  I  surmise  he  is,  a  literary  renegade, 


242 


The    Works  of  Father  Front. 


and  a  wretch  whose  venal  lyre  gives  forth  alternate  eulogy  and  abuse,  just  as 
the  political  thermometer  indicates  rise  or  fall,  I  should  deem  him  a  much  fitter 
candidate  for  the  "  horsepond"  than  either  Bony  or  Joachim.  But,  alas  !  how 
many  sad  instances  have  we  not  known  of  similar  tergiversation  in  the  conduct 
of  "gens  de  lettres. "  I  just  now  happened  to  mention  the  name  of  Dryden, 
commonly  denominated  "  glorious  John,"  and  what  a  sad  example  is  there  of 
political  dishonesty  !  The  only  excuse  I  can  see  for  Master  John's  unsteadiness, 
is  the  fact  of  the  habitual  state  in  which  he  generally  was  to  be  found,  and 
from  which  I  suppose  originated  the  surname  of  glorious,  applied  in  his  case. 
After  flattering  in  turns  Oliver  Cromwell  and  Charles  II.,  King  James  and 
King  William,  the  poor  devil  died  of  a  broken  heart,  deserted  by  all  parties. 
I  cannot  help  indulging  in  a  melancholy  sort  of  smile  when  I  read  his  panegyric 
on  tliat  canting  thief  old  XoU.  the  opening  lines  of  whicii  are  worth  any  money. 
It  would  seem  that  the  poet  was  at  a  loss  liow  to  grapple  with  his  mighty 
subject,  and  could  not  discover  a  beginning  to  his  praise ;  the  perfect  rotundity 
of  the  theme  precluding  the  possibihty  of  finding  either  a  commencement  or  an 
end 

"  Within  a  fame  so  truly  circzilarl  " 

But  turning  from  such  conceits,  and  from  the  affectation  of  courtly  writers  to 
a  simpler  and  more  unsophisticated  style  of  thought,  may  I  venture  to  think 
this  trifling,  but  genuine  rustic  lay  worthy  of  perusal : — 


CAXZOXETTA. 

Son  povera  ragazza 
JE  cerco  di  marito 
Se  trovo  buon  partito 
Mi  voglio  maritar 

Ma  chi  sa? 

Chi  lo  sa  ? 
lo  cerco  di  marito 
Se  lo  posso  ritrovar  ? 

lo  faccio  la  sartora, 
Questo  e  il  mio  mestiero, 
Vi  dicD  si  davvero 
E  so  ben  travagliar 

Ma  chi  sa? 

Chi  lo  sa  ? 
lo  cerco  di  marito 
Se  lo  posso  ritrovar  ? 

Gia  d'  anni  vinticinque 
Mi  trovo  cosi  sola, 
Vi  giuro  e  do  parola 
Mi  sento  alfin  mancar. 
Ma  clii  £a ': 
'Chi  lo  sa? 
lo  cerco  di  marito 
Se  lo  posso  ritrovar  ? 


VILLAGE   SOXG. 

Husbands,  they  tell  me,  gold  hath  won 

More  than  aught  else  beside  ; 
Gold  I  have  none  ;  can  I  find  one 
To  take  me  for  his  bride  ? 
Vet  who  knows 
How  the  wind  blows — 
Or  who  can  saj' 
I'll  not  find  one  to-day? 

I  can  embroider,  I  can  sew — 

A  husband  I  could  aid  ; 
I  have  no  dowry  to  bestow^ 
^lust  I  remain  a  maid  ? 
Vet  who  knows 
How  the  wind  blows — 
Or  who  can  say 
I'll  not  find  one  to-day? 

A  simple  maid  I've  been  too  long — 

A  husband  I  would  find  ; 
But  then  to  ask — no  ! — that  were  wrong  ; 
So  I  must  be  resigned  : 

Vet  who  knows  ♦ 

How  the  wind  blows — 

Or  who  can  say 

I'll  not  find  one  to-day? 


Simplicity  is  the  inseparable  companion  of  the  graces  ;  and  the  extreme  per- 
fection of  art  is  to  conceal  itself  under  the  guise  of  unstudied  negligence.  This 
excellence  is  only  attainable  by  few  ;  and  (if  I  be  allowed  to  dogmatize)  among 
all  the  writers  of  antiquity  is  most  remarkable  in  the  delightful  pages  of 
Xenophon.  Never  in  my  mind  will  tlie  "true  ease  in  writing."  which, 
according  to  that  most  elaborate  versifier,  but  still  most  fluent  writer,  Pope, 
"  comes  from  art,  not  chance,"  be  acquired  otherwise  than  by  a  diligent  study 
of  the  old  classics,  and  in  particular  of  what  Horace  calls  the  cxemplaria 
Graca.     Flaccus  himself,  in  his  scrmo  pcdcsiris,  as  well  as  in  his  inimitable 


The  Songs  of  Italy. 


243 


lyrics,  has  given  us  beautiful  specimens  of  what  seems  the  spontaneous  flow  of 
unstudied  fancy,  but  is  in  reality  the  result  cf  deep  thought  and  of  constant 
"  limcB  labor."  Menzini,  the  author  of  the  following  sonnet  on  a  very  simple 
subject,  must,  in  my  opinion,  have  drunk  deeply  at  the  source  of  Grecian 
elegance. 

IL  CAPRO    (MENZIXI). 

Quel  capro  maledetto  ha  presa  in  uso 
Gir  tra  le  vite,  e  sempre  in  lor  s'  impaccia  : 
Deh  I  per  farlo  scoidar  di  si  mil  traccia 
Dagli  d'  un  sasso  tra  le  corna  e  '1  muso. 

Se  Bacco  il  guata,  ei  scendera  ben  gluso 
Da  quel  suo  carro  a  cui  le  tigri  allaccia  ; 
Pill  feroce  lo  sdegno  oltre  si  caccia 
Quand'  e  con  quel  suo  vin'  misto  e'  confuso. 

Fa  di  scacciarlo,  Elpin  ;  fa  che  non  stenda 
Maligno  il  dente  ;  e  piii  non  roda  in  vetta 
L'  uve  nascenti,  ed  il  lor  nume  olTenda. 

Di  lui  so  ben  ch'  un  di  1'  altar  1'  aspetta  ; 
]Ma  Bacco  e  da  temer  che  ancor  non  prenda 
Del  capro  insierae  e  del  pastor  vendetta. 


THE  INTRUDER. 

There's  a  goat  in  the  vineyard  !  an  unbidden  guest^ 

He  comes  here  to  devour  and  to  trample  ; 
If  he  keep  not  aloof,  I  must  make,  I  protest, 

Of  the  trespassing  rogue  an  example. 
Let  this  stone,  which  I  tling  at  his  ignorant  head, 

Deep  imprest  in  his  skull  leave  its  moral, 
That  a  four-footed  beast  'mid  the  vines  should  not  tread. 

Nor  attempt  with  great  Bacchus  to  quarrel. 

Should  the  god  on  his  car,  to  which  tigers  are  yoked. 

Chance  to  pass  and  espy  such  a  scandal, 
Quick  he'd  mark  his  displeasure— most  justly  provoked 

At  the  sight  of  this  four-footed  Vandal. 
To  encounter  his  wrath,  or  be  found  on  his  path, 

In  the  spring  when  his  godship  is  sober. 
Silly  goat  !  would  be  rash  ;— and  you  fear  not  the  lash 

Of  the  god  in  the  month  of  October  1 

In  each  bunch,  thus  profaned  by  an  insolent  tooth. 

There  has  perished  a  goblet  of  nectar  : 
Fitting  vengeance  will  follow  those  gambols  uncouth, 
|k  For  the  grape  has  a  jealous  protector. 

On  the  altar  of  Bacchus  a  victim  must  bleed, 

To  avert  a  more  serious  disaster  ; 
Lest  the  ire  of  the  deity  visit  the  deed 

Of  the  goat  on  his  negligent  master. 

But  still  it  is  not  part  of  my  code  of  criticism  to  tolerate,  under  the  plea  of 
simplicity,  that  maudlin,  enervated  style,  which  some  modern  scribblers  have 
adopted,'  and  which  finds  an  appropriate  refuge  in  the  pages  of  a  certain 
decayed  magazine.  Havnes  Bayly  is  the  grand  lama,  of  tliis  sect  of  poetasters. 
And' indeed  among  the  Italians,  owing  to  the  smoothness  of  the  language 
and  the  facility  of  finding  rhyme  (when  reason  is  scarce),    there  are  many 


244 

The  Works 

of 

Father  Proiit. 

lamentable  specimens  of  Playnesbaylyism.     Here  is  one  Nvhich  I  have  very 
inadequately  done  into  English  : — 

A  SERENADE  (VITTORELLI). 

Guarda  che  bianca  luna 
Guarda  che  notte  azzurra 
Un'  auro  non  susurra 
Non  tremola  uno  slel. 

Ella  che  il  sente  appena                      I 
Gia  vien  di  fronda  in  fronda               " 
E  par  che  gli  risponda 
Non  piangere,  son  qui. 

1 
I 

L'  usignuoletto  solo 
Va  dalla  siepe  all'  orno 
E  sospirando  intorno 
Chiama  la  sua  Mel 

Che  dolci  affetti,  o  Irene, 
Che  gemiti  son  questi  ! 
Ah  mai  tu  non  sapesti 
Rispondermi  cosi. 

...                     i 

Pale  to-night  is  the  disc  of  the  moon,  and  of  azure  unmi.xt 

Is  the  bonnie  blue  sky  it  lies  on  ; 
And  silent  the  streamlet,  and  hushed  is  the  zephyr,  and  fixt 

Is  each  star  in  the  calm  horizon  ; 
And  the  hamlet  is  lulled  to  repose,  and  all  nature  is  still — 

How  soft,  how  mild  her  slumbers  I 
And  nought  but  the  nightingale's  note  is  awake,  and  the  thrill 

Of  his  sweetly  plaintive  numbers. 

His  song  wakes  an  echo  !  it  comes  from  the  neighbouring  grove — 

Love's  sweet  responsive  anthem  ! 
Lady  !  list  to  the  vocalist !  dost  thou  not  envy  his  love. 

And  the  joys  his  mate  will  grant  him? 
Oh,  smile  on  thy  lover  to-night  !  let  a  transient  hope 

Ease  the  heart  with  sorrow  laden  : 
From  yon  balcony  wave  the  fond  signal  a  moment— and  ope 

Thy  casement,  fairest  maiden  I 

The  author  of  the  above  is  a  certain  Vittorelli,  celebrated  among  the  more 
recent  poets  of  Italy  for  the  smooth  amenity  of  his  anacreontics;  which,  how- 
ever, I  regret  to  state,  are  of  a  very  washy  consistency,  and  present  for  the 
most  part  notliing  but  what  the  French  critics  call  "  de  I'eati  clai7-e."  Ar 
additional  sample  of  his  style  will  give  a  sufficient  notion  of  his  capabihties  ir 
the  sentimental  line  : — 


IL  DOXO  DI  VENERE.  THE  GIFT  OF  VEXUS. 

Cinta  le  bionde  chiome  With  roses  wreathed  around  his  ringlet.-, 

Delia  materna  rosa  bceeped  in  drops  of  matin  dew, 

Suir  alba  rugiadosa  Gliding  soft  on  silken  winglets, 

Venne  il  fanciullo  amor.  Cupid  to  my  study  flew  ; 

On  my  table  a  decanter 

Stood-    perhaps  there  might  be  two — 
When  I  had  with  the  enchanter 
(Happy  bard  I)  this  interview. 

E  colla  dolce  bocca  Sure  it  was  the  loveliest  vision 

Mi  disse  in  aria  lieta  : —  Ever  poet  gazed  upon— 

'*  Che  fai  gentil  poeta  Rapt  in  ecstasy  elysian, 

D'  Irene  lodator?"  Or  inspired  by  crniskccn  lawn. 

"  Poet,"  said  the  urchin,  "  few  are 

So  far  favoured  among  men — 
Venus  sends  by  me  to  you  her 
Compliments  and  a  new  pen. 


The  Songs  of  Italy. 


245 


Questa  nevosa  penna 
Di  cigno  immacolato 
Sul  desco  fortunato 
lo  lascio  in  dono  a  te. 


Serba  la  ognor,  geloso  I 
E  scriverai  d'  amore  ; 
Non  cede  il  suo  candore 
Che  a  quel  della  tua  fc. 


"  Take  this  quill— 'tis  soft  and  slender. 

Fit  for  writing  billets  doux — 
Fond  avowals,  breathings  tender. 

Which  Irene  may  peruse. 
■'Tis  no  vulgar  acquisition— 

'Twas  from  no  goose  pinion  drawn  ; 
But,  by  Leda's  kind  permission, 

Borrowed  from  her  favourite  swan. 

"  Sully  not  the  virgin  candour 

Of  its  down  so  pure  and  white ; 
Let  it  ne'er  be  dipt  in  slander. 

Nor  lascivious  ballads  write. 
Lend  it  not  to  that  Patlander, 

Denny  Lardner  ;  and  be  sure 
That  it  never  acts  the  pander. 

Like  the  pen  of  '  Little  '  Moore." 

What  a  difference  between  the  feeble  and  emasculate  tone  of  these  modem 
effusions,  and  the  bold,  manly,  and  frequently  sublime  conceptions  of  the  bards 
who  wrote  in  the  golden  age  of  Leo  X.,  under  the  influence  of  that  magic 
century  which  gave  birth  to  such  a  crowd  of  eminent  personages  in  all  the 
walks  of  literature.  The  name  of  Michel  Angelo  is  familiar  to  most  readers  in 
the  character  of  an  artist ;  but  few,  perhaps,  will  be  prepared  to  make  his 
acquaintance  in  the  capacity  of  a  poet.  Nevertheless,  it  gives  me  unmixed 
satisfaction  to  have  it  in  my  power  thus  to  introduce  the  illustrious  Buonarotti 
to  the  British  public,  as  a  poetical  writer  of  no  ordinan,'-  ment  ;  a  greater  proof 
of  which  will  not  be  requisite  than  the  following  noble  and  edifying  com- 
position : — 

AL  CROCIFISSO. 

Giunto  e  gia  il  corsD  della  vita  mia, 

Per  tempestoso  mar  con  fragil  barca, 

Al  comun  porto  ove  a  render  se  varca 
Conto  e  ragion  d'  ogni  opra  triste  e  pia. 
Ma  r  alta  affettuosa  fantasia, 

Che  r  arte  mi  fece  idolo  e  monarca, 

Conosco  or  ben  quanto  sia  d'  error  carca, 
E  quel  che  mal  suo  grado  ognun  desia  ; 
Gli  amorosi  pensier  gia  vani  e  lieti 

Che  fien  or  s'  a  due  morte  m'  a\-A'icino  ? 

D'  uno  so  certo,  e  1'  altra  mi  minaccia. 
Nfe  pinger  ne  scolpir  fia  piu  che  queti 

L'  anima  volta  a  quel  amor  divino 

Che  aperse  in  croce  a  prender  noi  le  braccia. 

MICHEL   AXGELO'S    FAREWELL   TO    SCULPTURE. 

I  feel  that  I  am  growing  old — 

Thy  flame,  my  lamp  of  clay,  behold  ! 

'Gins  to  bum  low  :  and  I've  unrolled 

My  life's  eventful  volume  ! 

The  sea  has  borne  my  fragile  bark 
Close  to  the  shore — now,  rising  dark, 
O'er  the  subsiding  wave  I  mark 

This  brief  world's  final  column. 

*Tis  time,  my  soul,  for  pensive  mood. 
For  holy  calm  and  solitude  ; 
Then  cease  henceforward  to  delude 

Thyself  with  fleeting  vanity. 


246  The   Works  of  Father  Front. 


The  pride  of  art,  the  sculptured  thought. 
Vain  idols  that  my  hand  hath  wrought — 
To  place  my  trust  in  such  were  nought 
But  sheer  insanity. 

What  can  the  pencil's  power  achieve  ? 
What  can  the  chisel's  triumph  give  ? 
A  name  perhaps  on  earth  may  live. 
And  travel  to  posterity. 

But  let,  O  Rome  !  thy  Pantheon  tell. 

If  for  the  soul  of  RafTaelle 

His  glorious  obsequies  could  quell 

The  Judgment  Seat's  severity? 

Vet  why  should  Christ's  believer  fear. 
While  gazing  on  yon  image  dear — 
Image  adored,  maugre  the  sneer 

Of  miscreant  blasphemer. 

Are  not  those  arms  for  me  outspread  ? 
What  mean  those  thorns  upon  thy  head  ? 
And  shall  I,  wreathed  v.-ith  laurels,  tread 

Far  from  thy  paths,  Redeemer  ? 

Such  was  the  deeply  religious  tone  of  this  eminent  man's  mind,  and  such , 
the  genuine  avcrsfisLa  of  Michel  Angeio.  An  unfeigned  devotedness  to  the 
doctrines  of  our  common  Christianity,  and  a  proud  consciousness  of  the  dignity 
which  the  avowal  of  those  feelings  is  calculated  to  confer  in  the  view  of  every 
right-minded  person,  are  traits  of  character  which  we  never  fail  to  meet  in 
all  the  truly  great  men  of  that  period.  Dante,  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Tasso, 
Raffaelle,  Sannazar,  Bembo,  Brunelleschi,  and  a  host  of  imperishable^  names, 
bear  witness  to  the  correctness  of  the  remark.  Nor  is  Petrarcha  deficient  in 
this  outward  manifestation  of  inward  piety.  The  death  of  Laura  forms  an 
epoch  in  his  biography;  and  the  tendency  of  his  thoughts,  from  that  date  to 
the  hour  of  his  death,  appears  to  have  been  decidedly  religious.  Those 
exquisite  sonnets,  into  which  he  has  breathed  the  pious  sentiments  of  his  soul, 
rank  among  the  most  finished  productions  of  his  muse  ;  and  the  intensity  of 
his  kindling  fer\'our  awakens  corresponding  emotions  in  the  reader's  breast.  So 
true  it  is  that  the  poet  who  sings  not  of  religion  has  broken  the  finest  chord  of. 
the  lyre.  Laura,  spiritualized  into  an  angelic  essence,  still  visits  his  nocturnal 
visions,  but  only  to  point  the  way  to  that  heaven  of  which  she  is  a  dweller,  and 
to  excite  him  to  deeds  worthy  of  immortality.  The  opening  stanza  of  one  of 
these  songs,  which  form  the  seco7id  part  of  the  collection,  thus  distinguished 
from  those  written  during  the  lifetime  of  his  beloved,  will  suffice  as  a  specimen 
of  the  tone  that  pervades  them  all. 

CANZONE  DOPO  LA  MORTE  DI  DONNA  LAURA. 

Quando  il  soave  mio  fido  conforto 

Per  dar  riposa  alia  mia  vita  stanca 

Ponsi  del  letto  in  su  la  sponda  manca 
Con  quel  sue  dolce  ragionar  accorto  ; 
Tutto  di  pieta  e  di  paura  smorto 
Dico  "  Onde  vien  tu  ora,  o  felice  alma?" 

Un  ramoscel  di  palma 
E  un  di  lauro  trae  del  sue  bel  seno 

E  dice  : — "  Dal  serene 
Ciel  empireo,  e  di  quelle  sante  parti. 
Mi  mossi :  e  vengo  sol  per  con.solarti     8:c.   .fee. 


The  Songs  of  Italy.  247 

PETRARCHA'S   DREAM. 

After  the  Death  of  Laura, 

She  has  not  quite  forgotten  me  I  her  shade 

My  pillow  still  doth  haunt, 

A  nightly  visitant. 
To  soothe  the  sorrows  that  herself  had  made  : 

And  thus  that  spirit  blest, 
Shedding  sweet  influence  o'er  my  hour  of  rest, 
Hath  healed  my  woes  and  all  my  love  repaid. 

Last  night,  with  holy  calm. 

She  stood  before  my  view. 

And  from  her  bosom  drew 
A  wreath  of  laurel  and  a  branch  of  palm  : 

And  said,  "To  comfort  thee, 

O  child  of  Italy  ! 

From  my  immortal  home, 

Petrarcha,  I  am  come  !"  Sic,  &c. 

Towards  the  close  of  his  career,  when  the  vanity  of  all  earthly  affection  be- 
came still  more  palpable  to  his  understanding,  there  is  something  like  regret 
exoressed  for  having  ever  indulged  in  that  most  pardonable  of  all  human  weak- 
nesses, the  hopeless  and  disinterested  admiration  of  what  was  virtuous  and 
lovely,  unmixed  with  the  grossness  of  sensual  attachment,  and  unprofaned  by 
the  vulgarities  of  animal  passion.  Still  he  felt  that  there  was  in  the  pursuit  of 
that  pleasing  illusion  something  unworthy  of  his  profession  as  a  clergyman  ; 
and  he  has  recorded  his  act  of  contrition  in  the  following  beautiful  lines,  with 
which  I  close  : — 

I'  vo  piangendo  i  miei  passati  tempi, 

I  quai  posi  in  amar  cosa  mortale, 

Senza  levarmi  a  volo,  avend'  io  1'  ale, 
Per  dar  forse  di  me  non  bassi  esempi. 

Tu,  che  vedi  i  miei  mali  indegni  ed  empi. 

Re  del  cielo  invisibile,  immortale  ; 

Soccorri  all'  a!  ma  disviata  e  frale, 
E  '1  suo  difetto  di  tua  grazia  adempi ; 

Sichfe  s'  io  vissi  in  guerra  ed  in  tempesta, 

Mori  in  pace  ed  in  porto  :  e  se  la  stanza 
Fu  vana,  almen  sia  la  paftita  onesta. 

A  quel  poco  di  viver,  che  m"  avanza  ' 

Ed  al  morir  degni  esser  tua  man  presta ; 

Tu   SAI    BEN,    CHe'n    ALTRUI    NON    HO   SPERANZA. 

THE   REPEXTA^XE   OF   PETRARCHA.  \ 

Bright  days  of  sunny  youth,  irrevocable  years  !  [ 

Period  of  manhoods  prime,  I 

O'er  thee  I  shed  sad,  but  unprofitable  tears —  i 

Lapse  of  returnless  time  :  1 

Oh  !  I  have  cast  away,  like  so  much  worthless  dross, 

Hours  of  most  precious  ore — 
Blest  hours  I  could  have  coined  for  heaven,  your  loss 

For  ever  I'll  deplore  ! 

Contrite  I  kneel,  O  God  inscrutable,  to  thee, 

High  heaven's  immortal  king  ! 
Thou  gavest  m^e  a  soul  that  to  thy  bosom  free 

Might  soar  on  seraph  wing  : 


248  The   Works  of  Father  Front. 


My  mind  with  gifts  and  grace  thy  bounty  had  endowed 

To  cherish  thee  alone — 
Those  gifts  I  have  abused,  this  heart  I  have  allowed 

Its  Maker  to  disown. 

But  from  his  wanderings  reclaimed,  with  full,  with  throbbing  heart. 

Thy  truant  has  returned  : 
Oh  I  be  the  idol  and  the  hour  that  led  him  to  depart 

From  thee  for  ever  mourned. 
If  I  have  dwelt  remote,  if  I  have  loved  the  tents  of  guilt— 

To  thy  fond  arms  restored, 
Here  let  me  die  I     On  whom  can  my  eternal  hopes  be  built. 

Save  upon  Thee,  O  Loro  ! 


XIII. 

{Erasers  Magazitie,  April,  1835.) 

[As  originally  published  in  Regvia,  tnis  mirteenth  of  the  Prout  Reliques  was  vaguely 
entitled  "  Notte  Romane  nel  Palazzo  Vaticano."  Afterwards,  in  its  reprinted  form,  it 
was  headed  at  once  more  laconically  and  more  specifically  "  The  Painter  Barry."  Its 
designation  in  its  present  re-issue  indicates  at  a  glance  both  its  hero  and  its  locality.  The 
coarseness  and  vulgarity  of  Oliver  Yorke  were,  perhaps,  never  more  flagrantly  evidenced 
than  by  the  flippant  remarks  prefixed  to  this  paper,  in  which  the  great  master  of  fiction, 
who  had  but  just  then  created  a  soul  under  the  ribs  of  death  by  re-peopling  with  pagan 
life  the  disentombed  solitudes  of  Pompeii,  was  insolently  denounced  for  what  was  in 
reality  an  achievement  in  literature,  as  though  he  had  been  guilty,  on  the  contrary,  pf  per- 
petrating some  high  crime  and  misdemeanour.  The  passages  to  which  allusion  is  here 
made  have  been  struck  out  by  the  present  editor  with  the  scorn  to  which  they  are  alone 
entitled.  INIaclise's  pencilling,  by  the  way,  in  the  same  number  of  Eraser,  presented  to 
view,  elaborately  veiled  and  frilled,  and  meditatively  stirring  a  cup  of  coff'ee,  Miss  Jane 
Porter,  authoress  of  "  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw/'  "  The  Scottish  Chiefs,"  and  "The  Pastor's 
Fireside."] 


Rome,  1769. 

"  Nothing  could  have  made  me  more  really  happy  than  3'our  ver>'  kind  letter.  It  came 
most  opportunely  to  support  my  spirits  at  a  time  when  I  was  ill  of  a  fever,  which  I 
believe  was  occasioned  by  a  cold  caught  while  working  in  the  Vatican." 

J.\MES  Barry  (R.A.)  to  (Sir)  Joshua  Reynolds- 

Apparet  domus  intus  et  atria  longa  patescunt 
Apparent  Priami  et  veterum  penetralia  regum." 

j^Tieid.  II, 

His  magic  wand  Prout  waves  again,  and  opes 
Those  hallowed  halls  inhabited  by  Popes  : 
Where  (through  an  odd  rencontre  that  befell)  he 
Enjoys  some  "  table  talk  "  with  Gaxg.-^nelli. — O.  Y. 

The  historian  on  whom,  in  a  future  age,  will  devolve  the  melancholy  task  of 
tracing  "d  la  Gibbon"  the  decline  and  fall  of  English  literature,  must  neces- 
sarily devote  an  ample  chapter  to  our  modern  writers  of  romance.  This  class 
of  authors  has  obtained,  in  our  days,  a  predominance  which  will  sutBce  to 
establish,  in  the  dispassionate  judgment  of  after  years,  the  degenerate  imbecility 
of  the  national  mind  during  the  period  of  its  influence.  A  motley  and  undisci- 
plined horde,  emerging  from  their  native  haunts  on  the  remote  boundary  of  the 
hterary  domain,  these  lawless  dwellers  of  the  regions  of  fiction,  these  denizens 


250  The   Works  of  Father  Protit. 

of  the  frontier  provinces  that  confine  on  the  legitimate  territory  of  the  belles- 
lettres^  have  rushed  down  with  a  simultaneous  war-whoop  on  the  empire  of 
learning,  and  seriously  threaten  not  to  leave  a  vestige  of  sober  knowledge  or 
classic  taste  throughout  the  wide  range  of  their  Vandahc  excursions.  No  por- 
tion of  antiquity's  most  precious  records,  no  memorable  transaction  of  bygone 
centuries,  no  important  epoch  in  the  annals  of  the  world,  is  held  sacred  from 
the  rude  inroad  and  destructive  battle-axe  of  the  "  Historical"  novelist.  The 
ghost  of  old  Froissart  revisits  nightly  the  glimpses  of  the  moon  to  complain  of 
those  who  molest  and  torture  his  simple  spirit.  Rapin,  Matthew  Paris, 
HoUingshed,  De  Thou,  Hume,  Clarendon,  and  Robertson  are  doomed  to 
undergo  a  post-mortem  species  of  persecution,  which  those  eminent  chroniclers 
scarcely  anticipated  as  the  fruit  of  their  learned  labours.  The  gentle  sister- 
hood of  the  sacred  valley  have  taken  the  affair  seriously  to  heart,  and  each 
muse  in  her  turn  sheds  a  tear  of  sympathy  and  condolence  over  the  disfigured 
page  of  Clio. 

Nor  has  the  department  of  individual  biography  been  exempt  from  the 
general  devastation.  Richelieu,  Cromwell,  William  Wallace,  Henri  Quatre, 
Cardinal  Borromeo,  Queen  Elizabeth,  Brinsley  Sheridan,  and  a  host  of  similar 
illustrious  victims,  have  been  successively  immolated  with  barbarous  rites  on 
the  shrines  of  Colburn  and  Bentley.  Vain  is  it  henceforward  to  hope  that  any 
great  man's  ashes  may  be  suffered  to  repose  in  their  monumental  urn.  After 
disinterring  by  dozens  the  memorable  dead  who  fain  would  sleep  in  W^est- 
minster  Abbey,  these  literary  ghouls  have  traversed  the  continent,  with  true 
vampire  voracity,  in  quest  of  prey;  and  few,  indeed,  are  the  distinguished 
characters  of  European  celebrity  on  whose  substance  they  have  not  fed  their 
indiscriminate  and  insatiate  maw. 

It  is  very  unfair  to  accuse  Sir  Walter  Scott  of  being  the  parent  of  this  literary 
monster ;  it  was  full  grown,  or,  at  least,  in  its  teens,  when  he  adopted  it,  fling- 
ing the  mantle  of  his  genius  over  its  native  deformity.  Towards  the  close  of 
the  last  century  the  muse  of  a  French  abbe,  Marmontel,  brought  it  forth  in 
"  Belisaire."  Florian  stood  sponsor  to  the  urchin  in  "  Gonsalve  de  Cordoue ;  " 
and  Jane  Porter  acted  the  part  of  wet  nurse  in  "Thaddeus  of  Warsaw." 

To  the  philosophic  observer  of  the  secret  workings  by  which  the  human 
soul  reveals  its  hidden  attributes,  unconscious  of  its  own  betrayal,  it  may  be  a 
fruitful  study  to  watch  how  each  of  these  novels  reflects,  as  in  a  toilette  mirror, 
the  personal  feelings  and  private  life  of  its  author  or  fair  authoress.  Le  Comte 
de'  Buffon  showed  vast  sagacity  in  his  celebrated  academic  discourse,  wherein 
he  proved  the  startling  proposition  "  Lc  style  c  est  Vho^nme ;"  but  of  our  recent 
dabblers  in  fiction,  it  may  be  still  more  confidently  asserted  that  the  writer's 
own  biography  is  sure  to  exhibit  a  ' '  lout  d  'oreille ' '  through  the  assumed  envelope 
of  his  story.  Tom  Moore,  in  a  production  called  the  "Epicurean,"  painted 
an  Eg}-ptian  miniature  of  his  own  emasculate  litt/e-ness ;  but  as  the  book  is  long 
since  defunct,  de  mortv.is  nil,  Sec,  (S:c.  We  observe  with  satisfaction  that  our 
friend  Kookwood-Ainsworth,  a  clever  fellow,  and  a  decided  lady-killer,  is  about  to 
give  us  /z/j- adventures  under  the  convenient  blind  of  a  new  romaunt,  to  be  entitled 
"The  Admirable  Crichton."  And  why  not?  since  Rousseau  published  "  Con- 
fessions"— since  Theodore  Hook,  under  the  name  of  "Gilbert  Gurney,"  shrives 
himself  every  month,  infusing  a  vein  of  quicksilver  into  the  pages  of  a  stupid 
periodical.  If  Madame  de  Stael  thought  proper  to  depict  herself  in  "  Corinne," 
why  should  not  our  especial  favourite,  the  accomplished  L.  E.  L.,  be  permitted 
to  shadow  forth,  with  delicate  tints,  fresh  carnation,  and  delicate  drapery,  her 
own  graceful  image  as  ' '  Francesca  Carrara  ?  "  Revelations  such  as  these,  which 
never  would  have  been  vouchsafed  to  our  dull  ears  were  it  not  for  the  allegorical 
vehicle  through  which  it  suits  modesty  to  whisper  its  claims  on  our  admiration, 
are  surely  enough  to  reconcile  us  to  this  sort  of  authorship.  Let  us,  then,  rather 
congratulate  ourselves  on  the  invention  of  the  historical  novel,  if  it  furnish  us 


Barry  in  the  Vatican.  251 

v.ith  details  which  through  no  other  channels  could  possibly  find  their  \\ ay  to 
the  public;  and  let  us  join  in  the  judicious  conclusion  of  that  scapegrace 
Voltaire — 

"  Tous  les  gens  sont  bons — hors  le  genre  ennuj-eux.  ' 

We  have  been  led  into  these  remarks  by  the  circumstance  of  meeting  among 
the  papers  of  our  sacerdotal  sage  (which  are  far  from  being  exhausted)  a 
singular  account  of  men  and  of  things  which  now  belong  to  history — a  start- 
hng  narrative  which,  did  we  not  deprecate  the  imputation,  might  be  taken  for 
romance. 

OLIVER   YORKE. 


Watergrasshill,  March,  1830. 

Dr.  Johnson,  among  his  admirable  essa}'s,  under  the  character  of  a  "  Ram- 
bler," has  a  paper,  if  I  recollect  right,  entitled  "The  Journey  of  a  Day:  a 
Picture  of  Human  Life."  In  it  "  Obadiah  sets  out  i/i  the  7norni?ig,"  and  so  on, 
to  the  close  of  the  gentleman's  adventures.  But  the  story  of  my  earthly  career, 
comprised  in  the  miscellaneous  contents  of  yonder  chest,  will  not,  I  fear,  pre- 
sent that  regular  progression  and  chronological  method  observed  in  the  bio- 
graphy of  '■  Obadiah."  The  chronicler  of  my  hfe  must,  I  apprehend,  take  the 
trouble  of  collating  and  systematizing  the  various  and  confused  records  which 
will  form  this  posthumous  collection.  Indeed,  the  safest  and  easiest  style  of 
publication  would  be  to  pull  forth  a  handful  at  random,  and  aflixing  thereto  the 
title  of  "  Proutiana,"  give  thus,  volume  after  volume,  in  the  "  prevaihng 
monthly  form,"  unril  the  whole  shall  have  been  exhausted.  This,  however,  is 
no  concern  of  mine,  and  as  Chief  Baron  O' Grady  once  said  to  a  jury  of  his 
countr}-men,  in  recapitulating,  after  a  protracted  trial  in  Tipperary,  the  usual 
mass  of  conflicting  evidence,  "Gentlemen,"  say  I  to  my  future  publishers, 
"  there's  the  bone — pick  it  as  you  like." 

I  have  been  a  sojourner  in  many  lands.  In  the  days  of  my  youth  I  felt  the 
full  value  of  that  vigorous  periods  unwasted  energies,  and  took  care  that  my 
faculties  of  body  and  mind  should  not  be  sluggishly  folded  in  a  napkin,  and 
hidden  beneath  the  clod  of  my  native  isle.  Hence,  wafted  joyfully  o'er  the 
briny  barrier  that  encloses  this  unfortunate  "gem  of  the  western  world,"  I 
early  landed  on  the  shores  of  continental  Europe,  and  spent  my  best  and 
freshest  years  in  visiting  her  cities,  her  collegiate  halls,  her  historic  ruins,  her 
battle-fields.     Tommy  Moore  and  I  may  say  with  truth,  that 

"  We  have  roamed  through  this  v.-orId." 

But  my  proceedings  (unlike  Tommy's)  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  conduct 
of  "a  child  at  a  feast."  It  was  not  in  pursuit  of  pleasure  that  I  rambled 
through  distant  pro\-inces;  neither,  like  Childe  Harold,  did  I  travel  to  stifle  the 
voice  of  remorse— to 

"  Fling  forgetfulness  around  me." 

I  had  other  views.  A  transient,  but  not  unobsen-ant  pilgrim,  I  have  kept  the 
even  tenor  of  my  way  through  many  a  foreign  tract  of  interesting  country; 
rarely  minghng  in  the  busy  hum  of  men,  though  carefully  noting  down  with 
meditative  mind  the  varieties  of  character  and  demeanour,  the  discrepancies  of 
national  thought  and  feeling  as  I  went  along.  I  have  been  keenly  av.-ake  to 
each  passing  occurrence  in  the  cities  where  I  dwelt,  though,  like  the  stranger 
at  Carthage,  unnoticed  myself  and  unperceived  : 

"Per  medios,  miscetque  ^'iris  neque  cemitur  ulli. "'^(-^«t'/i/.  /.) 

But  I  have  paused  longer  at  Rome.     Not  that  other  cities  were  divested  of 


252  The   Works  of  Father  Pro2it. 


attraction  :  other  places  possessed  interesting  features,  no  doubt :  they  claimed 
and  they  obtained  their  share  of  a  traveller's  attention;  yet,  at  no  inferior 
threshold,  at  no  minor  shrine,  could  I  be  induced  to  depose  the  staff,  the  scrip, 
and  the  scAiloi.-.hell.  Eager  to  hasten  forward,  and  carefully  reser\-ing  my 
best  liomage  for  that  unrivalled  sanctuary  of  the  scholars  worship,  of  the  anti- 
quary's idolatry.  The  name  and  Die  history  of  so  memorable  a  spot  had  long 
been' familiar  to  my  childhood.  Even  now,  in  the  decline  and  decrepitude  of 
old  age.  the  reminiscences  of  the  seven  hills,  recalling  all  m.y  youthful  associa- 
tions, and  refreshing  the  verdant  enthusiasm  of  my  boyhood,  return  sweedy, 
welcomed  like  the  visits  of  early  friendship ;  and  although  I  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  renewing  my  acquaintanceship  with  the  cities  of  France  some  thirty 
years'  ago,  at  the  peace  of  Amiens,  still  the  recollections  of  my  Roman  sojourn, 
bearing  the  remote  millesimo  of  1769,  have  kept  themselves  (to  use  a  conse- 
secrated  expression)  " g>-eener"  m  my  soul.  O  Rome!  how  much  better  and 
more  profitable  I  feel  it  is  to  dwell,  though  but  in  spirit,  amid  the  glorious  ruins 
of  thy  monumental  soil,  than  corporeally  to  reside  in  the  most  brilliant  and 
fri%'oious  of  modern  capitals.  Quanto  miniis  est  cum  reliquis  versari  quam 
tui  meminisse  ! 

There  is  a  splendid  song  by  some  English  bard,  highly  expressive  of  the 
sentiments  of  patriotic  attachment,  which  the  poet  must  have  felt  for  the  island 
that  gave  him  birth — sentiments  enhanced  by  a  reference  to  the  proud  position 
it  holds  among  the  countries  of  Europe  in  arms,  in  arts,  in  the  comforts  of 
civilization,  commerce,  and  freedom;  but  the  very  soul  of  the  composition  is 
exhaled  and  finds  utterance  in  that  brief  condensation  of  impassioned  eulogy, 
"  England,  the  Home  of  the  World  !  "  What  this  country  now  is,  Rome  was. 
That  city  the  philosopher  Seneca  terms  (in  his  treatise  De  Consolatione.  cap.  6) 
comniuncm  geiitibns  patriam  ;  and  the  idea  is  re-echoed  by  the  naturalist  Pliny 
in  nearly  the  same  words  (lib.  35,  cap.  5).  How  often  does  the  sensitive  mind 
of  the  Mantuan  shepherd  dwell  with  complacency  on  the  attractions  he  found 
in  the  city  of  his  adoption— 

"  Rerum  pulcherrima  Roma  I  "  (Gcorgic.  III.) 
And  again  : 

"  Urbem,  quam  dicunt  Romam,  ISIeliba^e  putavi 
Stultus  ego  huic  nostrae  similem." 

{Eclogue  /.) 

Not  less  perceptible  is  the  real  tendency  of  Horace's  affections.  When  that 
genuine  specimen  of  a  Roman  "man  on  Town,"  slyly  exhorts  some  friend  to 
try  the  effects  of  rustication  — 

"  Omitte  mirari  heatcs 
Fumum  et  opes  strepitumque  Romse  !  " 

Rut  Ovid's  case  is  more  peculiarly  interesting  in  this  respect.  He  who  had 
formed  the  chief  ornament  of  polished  society,  the  sought  for  and  the 
caressed  of  every  Roman  boudoir,  the  arbiter  of  refinement  and  elegance  at 
the  brilliant  court  of  Augustus,  is  suddenly  banished  to  Scythia,  a  province 
much  resembling  the  bogs  of  modern  Iveragh,  or  the  wilderness  of  Connemara. 
Placed  in  so  woful  a  predicament,  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  should  envy 
the  happiness  of  his  own  books,  which  would  go  through  so  many  editions  in 
the  capital,  and  be  handed  about  in  every  circle,  while  he  himself  was  pining 
among  th  e  tasteless  brutes  and  ignorant  savages  of  the  paludcs  Propoiitidis. 

"  Parve  .  .  .  sine  me  liber  ibis  in  Urbem 
Hei  mihi  quo  Domino  non  licet  ir,;  tuo." 

Thus  even  at  a  later  age,  in  the  decline  of  the  Empire,  that  eminent  scholar 


and  highly-gifted  writer,  St.  Jerome,  having  withdrawn  from  the  fascinations 
of  the  Eternal  City  to  a  romantic  hermitage  in  Palestine,  complained  sadly 
that  his  retirement  was  invaded,  and  his  solitude  perpetually  haunted,  by  the 
well-remembered  images  of  the  Roman  ladies,  and  certain  fairy  visions  of 
profane  beauty  and  accomplishments.  This  is  recorded  by  Erasmus  in  the 
life  of  the  samt  prefixed  to  the  editio  princeps — (S"-*^-  Hieronomi  Opera,  t.  i. 
folio,  Basileaj,  1526).  But  a  truce  to  these  frivolous  preliminaries.  Rome  was  not 
recommended  to  my  affections  and  cherished  in  my  heart  merely  because  of 
her  Pagan  excellence,  her  martial  glory,  her  literary  fame.  I  was  a  Christian 
man,  and  I  aspired  to  the  Christian  priesthood  in  that  city,  which  the  code  of 
Justinian  has  not  hesitated,  m  ancient  days,  to  call  the  fountain  of  sacerdotal 
honour — "  fons  sacerdotii,"  in  that  city  which  St.  Prosper,  a  graceful  poet  and 
a  father  of  the  Church  (a.D.  470),  addressed  in  terms  of  veneration  and 
endearment : 

"  Sedes  Roma  Petri,  quae  pastoralis  honoris 

Facta  caput  mundo  quidquid  non  possidet  armis. 
Regligione  tenet ;  " 

in  that  city  which  a  modern  French  poet,  the  unfortunate  Gilbert,  has  charac- 
terized in  the  following  splendid  line  — 

"  V'cirje  d'un  peuple  roi,  mais  Reine  encore  du  monde." 

I  looked  on  Rome  as  the  grand  cemetery  of  the  thousand  martyrs,  whose 
ashes  commingle  there  with  the  dust  of  the  Scipios,  and  whose  bones  (to 
use  the  strange  words  of  the  Bishop  of  Antioch,  Ignatius)  were  ground  into 
flour  by  the  lions  of  the  amphitheatre,  to  become  the  bread  of  Christ.  I  remem- 
bered that  on  this  spot  Peter  suffered,  and  Paul  bled  in  vindication  of  our 
common  Christianity ;  and  therefore  I  looked  on  Rome  with  the  eyes  of  old 
Chrv'sostom,  whose  glorious  declaration  comes  fresh  on  my  memory  when, 
com'menring  on  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  he  beautifully  exclaims  :  Eyw 
Kai  Ti]v  Vw}x\\v  oia  tovto  cpiXco  kul  fxaKaoiX^ay  otl  kul  X,uiV  avroL^  tui/ous  jjw  kui 
Tov  ftiov  i.Ki.1  KansXuae.  Aio  kui  i.Tn(ii]fj.o<;  jj  ttoXis  iVTEV^iv,i)  airo  -ricv  aWaiv 
airavTioV  kul  Kadairtp  cTwjia  fxiya  kui  icrxv',wv  ocpdaX/uLOvs  £X^'  ^^'^  Xu/nrov- 
Tas,  TCDU  ayiuiv  tovtudv  tu  croafxa-ra.     ^Kti^tv  aoTrdyijaTETO   llavXoi,  tKsiVtv 

ITfXpOS'    Eui'07]<TaTt     T£     KCtt    (ppl^UTE     OlOV    Oli/cTO     diUfXa     PwfXI),   TOV     HuvXuV 

i^ai(puy]'i  avLaTcifisvov  uto  t7)S  yjjjcijs  tKiivi]<i  fxtTa  IlETpoi/,  kul  aioofiivov  8ts 
aTrauTv,aiu  tov  KvpLou.  Oia  cnroaTEXXn  tw  Xptcr-rw  poca  jj  Pto/i»)  (Homilia 
in  Epist.  Paul,  ad  Romanos,  ad  finem).  An  eloquent  effusion  thrilling  with 
magnificent  enthusiasm,  the  spirit  of  which  may  be  recognized  in  a  hymn  of 
our  Church  composed  by  St.  Prudentius  in  the  fifth  centur}-,  for  the  festival  of 
Peter  and  Paul : 

"  O  Roma  felix  que  duorum  principura 
Es  consecrata  glorioso  sanguine 
Horum  cruore  purpurata  caeteras 
Excellis  orbis  una  pulchritudines  !  " 

E.x  officio  Breviar.  Rom.  29  Junii. 

So  alluring  a  topic,  as  I  confess  this  to  be,  suggesting  to  my  mind  so  many 
solemn  reflections,  must  not  however  lead  me  away  from  the  subject  of  to- 
night's paper,  which  I  intend  shall  relate  an  occurrence  that  befell  myself  and 
my  old  schoolfellow,  the  painter  Barry,  in  the  capital  of  the  Christian  world. 
It  is  an  inveterate  habit  with  my  imagination  to  run  riot  when  once  the  reins 
are  loosed  and  the  ground  tempts  to  a  fit  of  discursiveness,  nor  is  it  the  first 
time  in  the  course  of  these  compositions  that  I  have  felt  conscious  of  over- 


254  T^i^   Works  of  Father  Front. 

freely  indulging  in  illustration  and  soliloquy.  I  beg  leave  to  apologize  to  the 
gentle  reader  for  trespassing  on  his  patience,  and  I  do  so  without  availing  my- 
self of  the  excuse  an  erratic  French  poet  gives  for  the  aberrations  of  his 
muse : — 

"  Pardon,  messieurs,  si  je  m'egare, 
C'est  que  j'imite  un  peu  Pindare  ! " 

Which,  being  interpreted,  will  be  found  to  mean — 

"  I've  got  a  fault  I  cannot  hinder, 
A  knack  of  imitating  Pindar." 

Promising,  therefore,  to  keep,  as  far  as  human  frailty  will  allow,  with  straight- 
forward adherence  to  the  thread  of  my  narrative,  I  will  eschew  unnecessary 
speeches,  and  though  memory  should  be  ever  so  anxious  to  pour  forth  the 
mellow  gatherings  of  her  horn  of  plenty,  I  will  sternly  decUne  the  offerings  of 
the  pleasant  but  whimsical  cornucopia. 

It  was  towards  the  close  of  the  autumn  of  1769  that  I  reached  the  Eternal 
City.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  rapturous  exaltation  with  which  I  caught  a 
glimpse  from  the  heights  above  the  "  Pons  Milvius"  of  that  glorious  landscape 
of  ruins  ;  most  distinctly  is  my  mind  still  impressed,  at  this  distance  of  space 
and  time,  with  the  solemn  silence  of  those  seven  hills,  the  deep  gliding  of  the 
voiceless  Tiber,  the  frequent  cypress  rising  in  the  suburban  solitude— and, 
above  all,  yon  gorgeous  dome  of  the  Galilean  fisherman,  swelling  in  triumph 
over  the  circus  of  Xero.  Onward  I  went  with  eager  eyes,  with  throbbing 
heart,  and  with  elastic  step ;  for  I  had  alighted  from  the  clumsy  vehicle  of  my 
Florentine  vctturiuo,  sure  to  rejoin  him  at  the  traveller's  inevitable  rendezvous, 
the  Dogana  Pontificia ;  alone  and  on  foot  I  arrived  at  the  gate  of  Rome,  and 
stood  on  the  Piazza  del  Popolo.  What  was  the  precise  current  of  cogitation 
that  flowed  through  my  mind  I  cannot  exactly  remember,  but  I  was  suddenly 
aroused  from  my  reverie  by  the  rough  grasp  of  honest  and  affectionate 
w-elcome;  and  mine  eye  gazed  on  the  well-known  countenance  of  James  Barry. 
Then  and  there  was  I  destined  to  meet  thee  once  more,  best  loved  of  my  boy- 
hood and  earliest  associate  of  my  school-days  !  with  whom  I  had  often  played 
the  truant  from  the  hedge-academy  of  Tim  Delany. 


"  Meorum  prime  sodalium  ! 
Cum  quo  morantem  saepe  diem 
Fregi." — Hor.  lib.  ii.  ode  7. 


Ay,  then  and  there  was  it  my  lot  to  encounter  him,  whom  I  had  remembered  a 
shoeless,  stockingless,  and  reckless  urchin,  yet  withal  the  life  and  soul  of  fun  in 
the  classic  purlietis  of  Blarney  Lane ;  ripe  for  every  mischief,  but  distinguished 
among  the  pupils  of  our  excellent  didasculus  by  the  graphic  accuracy  with 
which  his  embryo  genius  could  trace  in  chalk  on  the  school-door,  or  with  slate 
pencil  on  those  tablets  sacred  to  Euclid,  the  aforesaid  pedant's  respectable 
proboscis.  A  red  cow,  in  fresco,  over  Mick  Flannagan's  public-house,  still 
exists  to  attest  the  early  development  of  his  pictorial  talent ;  and  even  then 
his  passion  for  the  fine  arts  was'demonstrated  by  the  fact  of  his  having  removed 
from  its  pedestal,  and  conveyed  in  the  dead  of  night  to  his  own  garret,  the 
wooden  effigy  of  a  blackamoor  that  adorned  the  Widow  Brady's  tobacco  shop. 
I  afterwards  lost  -sight  of  liim  when  he  migrated  from  Cork  to  the  miserable 
hamlet  of  Passage,  on  the  harbour.  There  his  father,  who  had  been  a  builder 
while  in  town,  became,  it  appears,  the  owner  of  a  small  coasting  craft ;  in 
which,  sadly  against  his  inclination,  my  poor  James  was  doomed  to  roam  the 
blue  deep,  until  he  at  last  rebelled  against  his  maritime  destiny,  and  "taking 
up  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles,  '  determined,  in  opposition  to  parental 
authority,  at  once  to  "end  them."     His  subsequent  fate  and  fortunes  since  he 


Barry  in  the  Vatican,  2 


-DD 


had  "cut  the  painter"  I  had  no  means  of  ascertaining,  till  thus  accosted  by 
what  seemed,  to  my  startled  eye,  the  most  unaccountable  of  apparitions  ;  nor 
was  it  till  I  had  fairly  scanned  his  outward  semblance,  and  heard  the  genuine 
Munster  brogue,  in  its  pure  unsophisticated  Atticism,  vibrate  on  his  tongue, 
that  doubt  gave  place  to  the  unfeigned  dehght  of  mutual  recognition.  Barry's 
wonderment  at  discovenng  his  quondam  acquaintance  in  a  semi-ecclesiastical 
garb,  was  not  the  least  amusing  feature  in  the  striking  group  we  both  presented 
under  the  pedestal  of  Aurelian's  obelisk,  that  flung  its  lengthy  shadow  across 
the  spacious  piazza  as  the  glorious  Italian  sun  still  lingered  on  the  verge  of  the 
horizon. 

An  immediate  adjournment  was  voted,  by  mutual  acclamation,  to  the 
nearest  hospitable  shed;  which,  I  remember  well,  was  that  m.ost  classically- 
named  establishment  the  Ostcria  dclla  Sybilla,  in  the  "  Corso."  There,  to 
use  the  language  of  a  kindred  soul  in  a  similar  rencontre — 

"  O  qui  complexus  et  gaudia  quanta  fuerunt ! 
Nil  ego  contulerim  jucundo  sanus  amico  " 

{Iter  Brtindiisit) — 

mine  host  was  summoned  to  produce  flask  after  flask  of  sparkling  On'icfo  and 
generous  "  lachr}'ma  ; "  nor  was  the  swelling  tear  of  joyous  enthusiasm 
unnoticed  by  me  in  the  full  eye  of  kindling  genius,  when  subsequently,  we 
drank  to  his  "art,"  and  his  "hopes,"  both  coupled  with  the  name  of 
"  Edmund  Burke,  his  noble,  his  generous  protector  !  " 

We  parted  at  "a  late  hour,  after  fully  comparing  and  collating  our  autobio- 
graphies, well  pleased  at  the  coincidence  that  had  reunited  us  once  more. 
Barry  had  but  to  cross  the  street  to  his  modest  stanzina,  in  the  ' '  \'icolo  del 
Greco."  I  tarried  for  the  night  in  the  cave  of  "  the  sybil,"  and  dreamed  over 
many  a  frolic  of  bygofie  days,  over  many  a  deed  of  Roman  heroism ;  com- 
minghng  the  recollections  of  Tim  Delany  with  those  of  Michael  Angelo,  and 
alternately  perambulating  in  spirit  the  "Via  Sacra"  and  "  Blarney  Lane." 

This  renewal  of  acquaintanceship  was  of  no  small  advantage  to  us  both 
during  the  period  of  our  residence  in  Rome.  Tliough  the  object  of  our  several 
inquiries,  and  the  path  of  our  respective  purstiits,  were  widely  dissimilar,  there 
was  necessarily  on  both  sides  much  of  acquired  attainment :  the  interchange 
of  which  was  mutually  delightful.  In  all  that  cou'd  illustrate  the  memorials 
of  Roman  stor)-,  the  early  annals  of  the  republic,  with  reference  to  trophies, 
triumphal  arches,  the  deciphering  of  inscriptions,  and  such  antiquarian  lore  as 
could  be  gathered  from  the  previous  perusal  of  much  that  had  been  written  on 
this  exhaustless  topic,  Barry  found  in  his  friend  an  humble  but  cheerful  nomen- 
clator — an  almanac  of  constant  and  useful  reference,  more  especially  in  that 
department  of  sacerdotal  knowledge  which  embraces  the  records  and  proceed- 
ings of  primitive  Christianity  ;  of  which  Rome,  its  catacombs,  its  churches,  its 
sepulchres,  and  its  MSS.  are  the  richest  and  most  faithful  depositories.*  In 
return  for  such  hints,  suggestions  and  traditionary  legends,  as  I  was  enabled  to 
communicate,  it  was  Barry's  pride  to  develop  to  me  the  sound  principles  of 
taste  and  criticism — the  whole  theon,-  of  the  art  he  loved — those  noble  \iews 
and  comprehensive  speculations  which  he  had  derived  from  nature,  and  from 
the  cultivated  intercourse  of  "A  Treatise  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful."  Com- 
mingUng  thus  our  notions  of  the  pleasing  reciprocity  of  obsen-ation  and  judg- 
ment, together  we  explored  all  the  monumental  remains  that  lay  strewn  in 
giant  fragments  over  the  seven' hills,  from  that  magnificent  rehc  of  imperial 

*  There  is  an  elaborate  work,  by  Father  Aringhi,  bearing  the  quaint  tide  of  Rottia 
Suhterranea,  2  vols,  folio,  Rom.  1663,  which  embodies  much  of  the  infonnation  heie 
alluded  to. — Prout. 


grandeur  "I'anfiteatro  Flavio,"  to  that  mighty  utilitarian  deposit  of  sepulchral 
glory,  the  "Cloaca  Maxima." 

Among  the  attributes  of  a  powerful  mind,  and  the  peculiarities  of  extra- 
ordinary intellect,  there  has  been  often  noticed  an  occasional  playfulness,  a 
whimsical  boyishness,  with  which  the  tame  prudery  of  mediocre  talent  is  rarely 
chargeable,  and  the  dull  eye  of  commonplace  thinkers  is  awfully  scandalized. 
This  remarkable  characteristic  in  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  mental  faculties  was 
observable  in  Barry  :  he  had  retained  in  the  maturity  of  manhood  that  never- 
failing  accompaniment  of  inborn  genius — he  possessed  the  unsophisticated 
heart  of  childhood  still  fresh  and  warm  in  his  breast.  My  friend  dearly  loved 
a  frolic.  I  know  not  whether  it  was  the  irresistible  impulse  of  those  early 
school  day  associations  which  my  unexpected  presence  had  then  and  there 
communicated  to  his  brai-,  but  certain  it  is,  that  in  the  most  sober  and  solemn 
localities,  when  the  inspir.iiions  of  the  spot  would  seem  to  preclude  the 
remotest  idea  of  fun,  a  sudden  unaccountable  whim  would  take  possession 
of  his  fancy — the  distinguished  painter  would  disappear  by  some  enchantment 
and  leave  nought  behind  but  the  wild  urchin  of  the  streets  of  Cork.  Thus, 
for  instance  :  in  examining  the  environs  of  the  Capitol  and  surveying  the  well- 
known  topography  of  that  classic  neighbourhood,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him, 
as  we  looked  up  with  reverential  awe  at  the  ci-devant  precipice  yclept  the 
Tarpeian  Rock,  to  suggest  that  I  should  climb  the  pinnacle,  and  place  myself  in 
the  attitude  of  an  ancient  criminal  about  to  take  the  last  fatal  step,  in  supposed 
accordance  with  the  senatus  consultum  in  such  cases  made  and  provided.  Of 
course  I  had  no  objection  to  gratify  his  wishes  thereupon,  but  had  scarcely 
folded  my  classical  gown  into  the  most  approved  fashion  of  a  Romian  toga,  and 
assumed  a  look  of  the  most  sublime  and  devoted  attachment,  even  in  death,  to 
the  laws  of  my  countr}-,  extendmg  my  arm  to  the  statue  of  Jupiter  Stator, — 
when  a  blow  of  a  cabbage  stump,  aimed  with  unerring  precision  from  the 
kitchen  garden  where  Barry  stood  below,  had  well-nigh  completed  the  tragic 
performance  and  hurled  me  from  my  "  evil  eminence,"  thus  adding  another  to 
the  crowd  of  distinguished  characters  whose  final  departure  for  the  nether 
world  (to  speak  with  Homer)  that  rock  had  witnessed — 

TloWae  6'  KpOijiLov^  il/vx'^'^^  «iOi  Trpoiad/ev  'Hpwwv.  K.  t.  A.. 

Fruitlessly  did  I  remonstrate  with  the  wayward  artist,  and  vainly  did  I  claim 
the  protection  of  canon  law,  which  excommunicates  the  perpetrator  of  a 
similar  enormity  {Si  quis,  suadente  diabolo,  clericum  percusserii.  Sec.  canon  ^  de 
pcrcussoribus,  sect.  3,  de  jactu  caul.)  ;  for  he  would  urge  my  own  oft -repeated 
quotation  from  Horace,  expressly  authorizing  poets  and  painters  to  attempt 
anything  within  the  range  of  human  audacity,  with  impunity, — quidlibct 
audendi  (De  Arte  Poet.,  v.  10). 

We  loved,  at  the  solemn  hour  of  sunset,  ere  twilight  grey  had  flung  his 
misty  mantle  o'er  the  scene,  to  ascend  together  the  Janiculum  Hill  (near  the 
Vatican)  because  of  the  unrivalled  prospect  which,  from  the  grand  reservoir  of 
the  Acqua  Paolina,  on  the  summit  of  that  elevation,  maybe  enjoyed  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening,  commanding  a  view  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  ancient  and 
modern  city, — its  palaces,  its  domes,  and  its  campanili  contrasting  in  pic- 
turesque confusion  with  the  giant  pillars  of  Trajan  and  Antonine, — the  full 
circumference  of  its  walls— its  aqueducts  stretching  in  broken  series  across  the 
desolate  campagna, — the  silent  course  of  the  Tiber  winding  its  serpent  length 
through  the  whole  compass  of  the  horizon,  with  the  distant  hills  of  Tivoli  and 
Alba  on  the  verge  of  the  landscape,  that  lost  itself  among  the  Apennines, — 
there  would  we  sit  and  contemplate  awhile  the  matchless  vision,  with  emotions 
far  deeper  than  those  felt  by  Catullus,  whose  eye  scanned  the  same  tract  of  land 
from  the  same  eminence  in  olden  days  :— 

"  Hinc  septem  dominos  videre  montes 
Et  totam  licet  a:stimare  Romam." 


Barry  in  the  Vatican,  257 

Then  anon  the  sportive  spirit  would  rush  upon  Barry,  and,  strangely  jarring 
on  the  harmony  of  local  reminiscences,  amid  the  awfulness  of  historic  cogita- 
tion, would  burst  forth  with  a  wild  and  grotesque  song,  composed  in  honour 
of  the  maritime  village  where  he  had  spent  his  young  days — manifestly  an  imita- 
tion of  that  unrivalled  dythyramb  "The  Groves  of  Blarney,  '  with  a  little  of 
its  humour  and  all  its  absurdity. 

THE  ATTRACTIONS  OF  A  FASHIONABLE  IRISH 
WATERING-PLACE. 

The  town  of  Passage 

Is  both  large  and  spacious, 

And  situated 

Upon  the  say, 
'Tis  nate  and  dacent, 
And  quite  adjacent 
To  come  from  Cork 

On  a  summer's  day  : 
There  you  may  slip  in 
To  take  a  dipping. 
Foment  the  shipping 

That  at  anchor  ride. 
Or  in  a  wherry 
Come  o'er  the  ferry. 
To  Carrigaloe, 

On  the  other  side. 

Mud  cabins  swarm  in 
This  place  so  charming, 
With  sailor  garments 

Hung  out  to  dry  ; 
And  each  abode  is_ 
Snug  and  commodious. 
With  pigs  melodious 

In  their  straw-built  sty. 
It's  there  the  turf  is. 
And  lots  of  murphies, 
Dead  sprats  and  herrings 

And  oyster-shells  ; 
Nor  any  lack,  O  ! 
Of  good  tobacco — 
Though  what  is  smuggled 

By  far  excels.  i 

There  are  ships  from  Cadiz,  [■ 

And  from  Barbadoes,  f 

But  the  leading  trade  is 

In  whisky-punch  ;  , 

And  you  may  go  in 
Where  one  Molly  Bowen 
Keeps  a  nate  hotel 

For  a  quiet  lunch.  > 

But  land  or  deck  on,  ■■ 

You  may  safely  reckon, 
Whatsoever  country 

You  came  hither  from, 
On  an  invitation 
To  a  jollification. 
With  a  parish  priest 

That's  called  "  Father  Tom."* 

''  This  cannot  possibly  refer  (without  a  flagrant  anachronism)  to  the  present  incumbent, 
the  Rev.  1  hemas  England,  P.P.,  known  to  the  literary  world  by  "  a  life"  of  the  cele- 
brated Friar,  Arthur  O'Leary,  chaplain  to  a  Club  which  Curran,  Yelverton,  Earls  i\ioira, 
Charlemont,  &c.,  &c.,  established  m  1780,  under  the  designation  of  "  The  Monks  of  tne 
I    Screw."— O.  Y.  .    ^t 


L 


258  Tht  Works  of  Father  Front. 

Of  ships  there's  one  fixed 
For  lodging  convicts, 
A  floating  "  stone  jug" 

Of  amazing  bulk  ; 
The  hake  and  salmon, 
Playing  at  backgammon. 
Swim  for  divarsion 

All  round  this  "hulk;" 
'  There  "  Saxon  "  jailors 

Keep  brave  repailors. 
Who  soon  with  sailors 
Must  anchor  weigh 
From  the  em'rald  island, 
Ne'er  to  see  dry  land 
Until  they  spy  land 

In  sweet  Bot'ny  Bay. 

Some  people  will  think  this  conduct  of  my  departed  friend  very  childish,  and 
so  it  was,  doubtless  :  but,  to  quote  the  language  of  his  patron,  Edmund  Burke, 
in  one  of  those  immortal  pamphlets,  replete  with  a  wisdom  and  a  philosophy 
never  granted  to  the  soul  of  an  utilitarian,  "  Why  not  gratify  children  ?  Law- 
yers, I  suppose,  were  children  once.  Is  the  world  all  grown  up  ?  is  childhood 
dead  ?  or  is  there  not  in  the  bosom  of  the  worst  and  the  best  some  of  the  child's 
heart  left  to  respond  to  its  earhest  enchantments?"  There  is  a  remark  made 
by  Coleridge  relative  to  the  propensity  of  superior  mental  power  to  humble 
itself  to  the  capacity  and  the  pursuits  of  the  infant  mind,  which,  if  I  recollect 
his  exact  words,  I  would  here  record ;  *  but  I  have  constantly  observed  in  my 
own  experience  of  life,  and  my  own  range  of  reading,  that  such  has  ever  been 
the  tendency  of  all  gifted  and  extraordinary  men  in  every  age,  from  Agesilaus 
to  Henri  Quatre — from  the  prophet  who  adapted  himself  to  the  proportions  of 
infancy,  ''his  mouth  icpon  his  ?nouth,  his  eyes  upon  his  eyes,  his  ha7ids  up07i  his 
hands"  (2  Kings,  chap.  iv.  v.  34),  to  our  own  immortal  patriot  Grattan,  who,  in 
the  home  a  nation  gave  him,  amid  the  woods  of  Finnahinch,  played  hide-and- 
seek  with  his  children ;  where  (as  Tom  Moore  says)  he  who  had  guided  the 
councils  of  the  collective  wisdom, 

"  The  most  wise  of  the  old, 
Became  all  that  the  youngest  and  simplest  hold  dQar."—  Monody,  &c. 

Some  weeks  passed  on,  and  I  began  to  see  less  of  Barry.  Anxious  to  store 
my  mind  with  whatever  knowledge  was  to  be  obtained  in  the  haunts  of  learn- 
ing of  the  metropolis,  I  spent  my  days  in  frequenting  the  halls  of  the  Univer- 
sity {archigymnus,  rom)  and  imbibing  the  wisdom  of  its  professors.  To  some  of 
these  I  willingly  pay  the  tribute  of  grateful  acknowledgment;  they  were  men  of 
acute  and  quick  perception,  clear  and  lucid  delivery,  easy  and  affable  inter- 
course ;  their  lectures  were  at  once  animated  and  substantial ;  while  others 
(alas  !),  like  our  modern  Denny  Lardners,  operated  on  the  crowd  of  eager 
students  like  the  reading  of  the  riot  act — dull-plodding,  pompous,  pragmatical, 
and  empty-headed. 

While  I  was  thus  engaged  in  sounding  the  depths  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  my 
friend  and  countryman  was  ardently  pursuing  his  favourite  vocation,  and  dili- 
gently studying  the  antique  ;  while  I  was  busied  with  the  rude  forms  of 
syllogistic  disputation,  he  was  tracing  the  graceful  shapes  of  fawn  and  nymph 

*  The  remark,  of  which  Prout  only  recollects  the  substance,  may  be  found  in  Cole- 
ridge's Autobwi^rn/>h.  Liter.,  Vol.  i,  p.  85.  "  To  carry  on  tlie  feelings  of  child/wod 
into  the  po7vcrs  of  tnanhood  is  the  privilege  of  genius,"  Sec,  tzc.  Pope  seems  to  have 
had  a  foretaste  of  the  metaphysical  discovery  made  by  Coleridge  when  he  wrote  that  line 
on  his  friend  Gay — 

"  In  wit  a  vinn,  simplicity  a  child." — O.  Y. 


Barry  in  the  Vatican.  '    259 

— Psyche  and  Ganymede  ;  I  wrestled  with  Duns  Scotus  and  Peter  Lombard, 
he  grappled  with  the  dying  gladiator,  or  the  still-breathing  Laocoon  ;  that 
huo'e  block  called  the  torso  of  Hercules  was  the  grand  object  of  his  idolatry; 
/  worshipped  an  equally  ponderous  and  gigantic  folio  of  Cornelius  a  Lapide. 

Months  rolled  away.  I  began  to  receive  occasional  visits  from  the  painter ; 
but  I  could  observe  that  his  brow  wore  the  mask  of  a  disturbed  and  unquiet 
spirit,  and  that  he  laboured  under  fits  of  depression  and  annoyance.  He  made 
no  difficulty  of  communicating  to  me  the  subject  of  his  tribulations,  which 
had  httle  foundation  in  reality,  but  were  sufficient  to  sting  to  madness  an  over- 
sensitive mind  such  as  my  friend  unfortunately  possessed.  He  had  persuaded 
himself  that  the  English  artists  in  Rome  were  in  a  combination  against  him, 
that  he  was  doomed  to  be  for  ever  the  victim  of  jealous  envy,  that  his  efforts  to 
gain  celebrity,  and  take  his  allotted  place  among  the  ornaments  of  his  profes- 
sion, would  be  ever  thwarted,  by  undue  preferences  bestowed  on  inferior  craft 
and  intriguing  dulness.  To  those  troubles  of  his  fancy's  creation  there  was 
superadded  the  straitened  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed;  wholly 
dependent  on  the  small  annuity  which  Edmund  Burke  (by  no  means  wealthy 
at  that  period)  contrived  to  bestow  on  him  (50/.)* 

All  these  symptoms  of  his  internal  organization,  which  afterwards  in  London 
broke  out  into  such  fearful  manifestations  of  irritability  and  unhappy  temper, 
required  my  utmost  skill  in  the  art  of  persuasion  to  soothe  and  to  pacify. 
Poets  have  'been  termed  an  angry,  susceptible,  and  sensitive  race,  ever  prone 
to  take  umbrage  at  the  most  imaginary  shght,  and  industriously  conjuring  up 
spectral  apparitions  of  unintentional  offence  and  visionary  wrongs  ;  but  Barry 
belonged  to  the  most  exalted  class  of  tha  ^efi us  irritabile,  and  this  unfortunate 
impatience  of  mind,  in  conjunction  with,  and  deriving  intensity  from,  physical 
and  constitutional  habit,  brought  on  his  premature  death,  ere  that  plenitude 
of  fame,  and  that  fulness  of  renown,  on  which  he  might  securely  have  counted, 
could  in  the  course  of  human  affairs  be  granted  to  his  too  eager  anticipation. 
How  beautifully  is  the  line  of  observation  into  which  I  have  thus  been  in- 
advertently led,  followed  up,  and  how  feelingly  is  the  same  sentiment 
;  expressed,  by  le  Baron  de  Fontanes  in  his  consolatory  address  to  M.  de 
Chateaubriand  ! — 

"  Ainsi  les  maitres  de  la  lyre 

Partout  exhalent  leur  chagrins, 
I  Vivants  la  douleur  les  dechire  ; 

j  Et  ces  dieux  que  la  terra  admire 

^  Ont  peu  compte  de  jours  sereins, 

";  Longtemps  une  ombre  fugitive 

Semble  tromper  leur  noble  orgueil ; 
La  Gloire  enfin  pour  eux  arrive, 
Et  toujours  sa  palme  tardive 
Croit  plus  belle  au  pied  d'un  cercceil." 


I've  marked  the  youth  ^vith  talents  cursed, 
I've  watched  his  eye,  hope-lit  at  first — 
Then  seen  his  heart  indignant  burst 
To  find  his  genius  scorned  ! 

*  Barr>'  was  not  the  only  English  (?)  artist  whose  poverty  at  Rome  was  proverbial ;  the 
eminent  landscape  painter  Wilson  was  sadly  unprovided  with  the  precious  metals  while 
a  student  in  the  capital.  There  is  an  odd  story  told  of  his  doffing  his  coat  one  fine  day 
for  a  game  of  tennis  in  the  baths  of  Caracalla  (where  the  English  had  got  up  a  sort  of 
ball  alley),  when  lo  !  on  his  back,  by  way  of  lining  to  his  waistcoat,  a  splendid  waterfall 
with  gro'ttos,  &c..  Sic,  became  visible  ;  a  contrivance,  no  doubt,  of  his  laundress  to  turn 
his  productions  to  some  profitable  piupose.— O.  Y. 


26o   •  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 

Soft  on  his  secret  hour  I  stole, 

And  saw  him  scan  with  anguished  soul 

Glorj'S  immortal  muster-roll 

His  name  should  have  adorned  ! 

His  fate  had  been,  with  ardent  mind 

To  chase  the  phantom  fame, — to  find 

His  grasp  eluded  : — calm,  resigned — 

He  knows  his  fate — he  dies  ! 

Then  comes  Renown*  !  then  Fame  appears  ! 
Glory  proclaims  the  coffin  hers  ; 
Aye  greenest  over  sepulchres 
Palm-tree  and  laurel  rise. 

In  the  midst  of  those  manifold  vexations,  there  arose  on  the  destiny  of  my 
friend  a  guiding  star,  a  light  to  illumine  his  path,  and  to  cheer  him  on  his 
pilgrimage,  a  mild  and  holy  influence,  which  had  it  not  been  withdrawn 
suddenly,  and  for  ever,  might  have  rescued  Barry  from  the  dominion  of  his 
own  unruly  imaginings  and  linked  him  to  social  existence.  The  rudest  and 
most  ungovernable  natures  are  the  most  docile  and  pleasant  under  the  angelic 
sway  of  female  loveliness;  and  there  is  a  secret  spell,  by  which  the  gentle 
voice  of  beauty's  admonition  finds  access  to  the  most  ironbound  and  intract- 
able tempers.  In  his  frequent  visits  to  the  Vatican,  Barry  had  been  noticed  by 
the  old  custode  who  tenanted  the  Torrione  del  Venti  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
palace.  Fabio  Centurioni  (such  was  the  honoured  name  of  this  respectable 
veteran,  the  senior  officer  of  the  Vatican  gallery)  was  in  himself  an  object  not 
unworthy  of  the  antiquarian's  attention.  He  belonged  to  a  race  of  men 
totally  distinct  in  character,  feeling,  and  outward  semblance  from  the  vulgar 
crowd  of  Italians  who  crawl  through  the  streets  of  Rome.  He  was  of  an  old 
transtiberine  family;  that  is  to  say  he  claimed,  in  common  with  the  traste- 
verhii,  or  inhabitants  of  that  quarter  of  the  city  separated  from  the  rest  by  the 
Tiber,  an  undoubted  and  uncontaminated  pedigree,  ascending  through  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  intervening  barbarism  to  the  ancient  masters  of  the  world. 
Whether  he  traced  the  relationship  to  Fabius  Maximus 

"  Unus  qui  nobis  cunctando  restituit  rem"  {EKniJis) — 

is  a  point  which  I  omitted  at  the  time  to  ascertain ;  but  if  a  solemn,  imperturb- 
able gait,  a  gravity  of  deportment,  an  absence  of  all  unnecessary  speed  in 
word  or  gesture,  were  symptoms  of  genealogical  import,  his  descent  in  a  direct 
line  from  the  great  Cutictator  was  unquestionable.  His  affection  for  young 
Barry  originated  in  a  sort  of  fancied  resemblance  to  the  old  Roman  character 
which  he  thought  he  could  trace  in  the  young  foreign  artist,  and  certainly, 
as  far  as  energy,  vigour,  a  proud  and  generous  disposition,  and  an  uncom- 
promising dignity  were  typical  of  the  sons  of  Romulus,  the  Irish  painter 
justified  the  old  gentleman's  sagacity  and  vindicated  his  discernment ;  hence 
he  entertained  for  my  friend  a  predilection  which  he  took  every  opportunity  of 
exhibiting,  being  heard  to  declare  that  Barry  was  more  of  a  Roman  than  the 
whole  tribe  of  degenerate  wretches  who  dwelt  on  the  right  bank  of  the  ri%'er. 
But  what  set  the  seal  to  the  custode's  approbation,  and  firmly  established  the 
foreigner  in  his  esteem,  was  the  unbounded  veneration  and  respectful  homage 
which  both  felt  in  common  for  the  huge  torso  of  Hercules  at  the  extremity 
of  the  gallery — a  colossal  fragment,  well-known  throughout  Europe  from  the 
many  casts  that  have  been  taken  therefrom,  and  which  in  shape,  size,  and 
wonderful  attributes  can  only  be  compared  to  the  Blarney  stone,  of  which,  to 
the  uninitiated  vulgar,  it  appears  an  exact  fac-simile.  Fabio's  eye  glistened  with 
delight  as  he  watched  our  enthusiast  sketching  his  glorious  block  day  after 


Barry  m  the  Vatican.  261 

day,  in  every  position  and  attitude.  An  invitation  to  his  apartments  in  the 
palace  was  the  result ;  and  thus  Barry  became  acquainted  with  the  accom- 
plished, the  unrivalled  Marcella. 

Pure,  delightful,  heavenly  being  !  sixty  years  have  passed  over  my  head,  and 
revolutions  have  swept  over  the  face  of  Europe,  and  monarchies  have  passed 
away,  and  for  more  than  half  a  century  thy  ashes  have  slept  in  the  church  of 
Santa  Cecilia  in  trastevere,  but  thy  image  is  now  before  me,  lovely  and  animated 
as  when  thy  smile  cheered  the  wild  Irish  artist,  whom  thou  didst  devotedly  and 
unfeignedly  love  !  In  that  church,  near  the  tomb  of  the  martyred  saint  (thy 
model  and  thy  patroness),  a  marble  tablet,  carved  by  the  hand  of  thy  heart- 
broken father,  may  yet  be  seen,  with  the  words — "  Marcella  Cen'turioxi, 

DI  ANN'I  13,  VERGINE  ROMANA,  PACE  IMPLORA." 

That  peace  is  assuredly  thine.  Of  too  gentle  a  texture  wert  thou  to  endure 
the  trials  of  life,  and  the  rude  contact  of  adversity.  Hence  in  mercy  wert  thou 
withdrawn  from  this  boisterous  world,  and  received  into  the  harbour  of  eternal 
rest.  With  grief  I  record  thy  early  fate  :  but  I  sorrow  not  for  thee  !  My 
mind  loves  to  dwell  on  the  probable  destiny  of  my  friend  had  Heaven  but 
granted  him  a  partner  through  life,  an  adviser,  a  helpmate,  a  tutelary  deity, 
in  the  adored  person  of  her  whom  he  had  the  unspeakable  misfortune  to  lose 
for  ever.  But  of  what  avail  are  the  fond  speculations  of  friendship  ?  Both 
are  long  since  no  more,  and  I  myself  must  soon  rejoin  them  in  the  mysteri- 
ous region  that  stretches  out  beyond  the  grave. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  Christmas  of  1769.  In  Italy,  the  annual  recurrence 
of  that  merry  festival  is  accompanied,  in  the  family  circle,  as  well  as  in  the 
public  rejoicings,  with  certain  demonstrations  of  religious  feeling,  and  is  not 
merely,  as  in  England,  a  season  of  carousing  and  revelry  The  picturesque 
appearance  and  grotesque  costume  of  the  rustic  minstrels,  who  come  down 
from  the  Apennines  at  that  period  of  the  year  and  fill  the  city  with  the 
melody  of  their  bagpipes  (not  unlike  a  group  of  Bethlehem  shepherds),  is  not 
the  least  interesting  feature  of  the  solemnity.  The  ceremonies  and  liturgy 
of  the  Church,  appealing  to  the  senses  of  the  people  (for,  in  spite  of  the  march 
of  intellect,  there  must  ever  be  an  outward  and  visible  display  of  religious 
worship  for  the  bulk  of  mankind),  kindle  in  a  marvellous  degree  the  fervour 
of  those  southern  votaries  of  our  common  Christianity,  and  are  admirably 
adapted  for  impressing  them  with  sentiments  appropriate  to  the  commemora- 
tion of  Christ's  nativity.  It  was  then  that,  through  Barr}',  who  was  a  constant 
visitor  of  Fabio  Centurioni,  and,  in  fact,  was  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  an 
accepted  son-in-law,  I  became  intimate  with  the  old  custode's  family.  Many 
were  the  pleasant  hours,  and  countless  the  happy  evenings,  we  spent  in  the 
society  of  those  good  and  hospitable  people — many  the  moments  of  unmixed,  in- 
effable enjoyment.  Excellence  in  musical  accomplishments  is  the  birthright  of 
every  daughter  of  Italy  ;  but  Marcella's  voice  thrilled  with  a  delicacy  of  feeling 
and  a  depth  of  expression  it  has  never  been  my  fortune  to  meet  in  any  part  of 
the  continent.  Memory  will  occasionally,  at  this  distance  of  time,  bring  back 
some  fleeting  snatches  of  that  exquisite  melody;  and  just  now  a  simple  ballad, 
replete  with  graceful  piety,  which  I  believe  to  be  of  her  own  composition,  pre- 
sents itself  to  my  recollection.  It  is  but  a  fragment ;  but  as  I  never  saw  it  any- 
where in  print,  I  cannot  supply  the  portion  that  is  deficient,  to  complete  the 
poem,  which  contains  a  supposed  dialogue  between  the  Virgin  Mary,  a  gipsy, 
and  St.  Joseph,  in  the  land  of  Eg)-pt. 

LA  ZINGARELLA. 

Ben  venuto  vecchiarello  Siete  stanchi  e  meschini 

Con  questo  bambino  bello  Credo,  poveripellegrini, 

Che'  sto  core  m'  inamora ;  Che  cercate  d'  alloggiare 

Dio  ti  salvi,  bella  signora  !  Vuol  signora  scavalcare  ? 


262 


The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


Alia  tua  bella  presenza 
Tutta  mi  sento  riverenza, 
E  ancor  credo  per  certo 
Che  venite  del  deserto. 

Siete  stanchi  della  via, 
Vi  offerisco  la  casa  mia ; 
Benche  sono  poverella, 
Son  una  donna  Zingarella. 

Se  non  e  come  meritate 
Signoruccia  perdonate,  _ 
Quest'  onor  volete  farmi  ?_ 
Questo  piacer  volete  darmi  ? 

Aggia  qua  una  stallella 
Buona  per'  sta  somarella  ; 
Paglia  e  fieno  ce  ne  getto 
Vi  6  per  tutti  lo  ricetto. 


E  tu,  vecchiarello,  siedi !_ 
Sei  venuto  sempre  a  piedi ; 
Avete  fatto,  o  bella  figlia, 
Da  trecento  e  tante  miglia. 

O  ch'  S  hello'  sto  figliarello 
Che  par  fatto  con  pennello, 
Non  ci  so  dar  assomiglio 
Bella  madre  e  bello  figlio. 

Non  aveta  piu  paura 
V  indovino  1'  aventura, 
Noi  signora  cosi  sine 
Facciam  sempre  1'  indovino. 

Quel  picciolin'  mi  tocca  il  core 
Mostra  mi  dunque  per  favore, 
Fammi  grazia  signorina 
Dammi  qiii  la  sua  manina,  etc. 


THE  FLIGHT  INTO   EGYPT. 

A  Ballad. 

There's  a  legend  oft  told  of  a  gipsy  that  dwelt 

In  the  land  where  the  Pyramids  be  ; 
And  her  robe  was  embroider'd  with  stars,  and  her  belt 

With  devices  right  wondrous  to  see. 
And  she  lived  in  the  days  when  our  Lord  was  a  child 

On  his  mother's  immaculate  breast  ; 
When  he  fled  from  his  foes— when  to  Egypt  exiled. 

He  went  down  with  St.  Joseph  the  Blest. 

This  Egj'ptian  held  converse  with  magic,  methinks, 

And  the  future  was  given  to  her  gaze ;    _ 
For  an  obelisk  mark'd  her  abode,  and  a  sphinx 

Kept  watch  on  her  threshold  always. 
She  was  pensive,  and  ever  alone,  nor  was  seen 

In  the  haunts  of  the  dissolute  crowd, 
But  communed  with  the  ghosts  of  the  Phaa-aohs,  I  ween. 

And  with  visitors  wrapp'd  in  a  shroud. 

And  there  came  an  old  man  from  the  desert  one  day 

With  a  maid  on  a  mule,  by  that  road, 
And  a  child  on  her  bosom  reclined— and  the  way 

Led  them  straight  to  the  gipsy's  abode  : 
And  they  seem'd  to  have  travell'd  a  wearisome  path 

From  their  home,  many,  many  a  league— 
From  a  tyrant's  pursuit,  from  an  enemy's  wrath, 

Spent  with  toil,  and  o'ercome  with  fatigue. 

And  the  gipsy  came  forth  from  her  dwelling,'  and  pray'd 

That  the  pilgrims  would  rest  there  awhile  ; 
And  she  offer'd  her  couch  to  that  delicate  maid. 

Who  had  come,  many,  many  a  mile  ; 
And  she  fondled  the  babe  with  affection's  caress. 

And  she  begg'd  the  old  man  would  repose  ; 
'  Here  the  stranger,"  she  said,  "  ever  finds  free  access. 

And  the  wanderer  balm  for  his  woes." 

Then  her  guests  from  the  glare  of  the  noonday  she  led. 

To  a  seat  in  her  grotto  so  cool, 
\Vhere  she  spread  them  a  banquet  of  fruits  ;  and  a  shed 

With  a  manger  was  found  for  the  mule  : 


With  the  wine  of  the  palm-tree,  with  dates  newly  cull'd, 

All  the  toil  of  the  road  she  beguiled  ; 
And  with  song  in  a  language  mysterious  she  lull'd 

On  her  bosom  the  wayfaring  child. 

\Vhen  the  gipsy  anon  in  her  Ethiop  hand 

Placed  the  infant's  diminutive  palm. 
Oh  'twas  fearful  to  see  how  the  features  she  scann'd 

Of  the  babe  in  his  slumber  so  calm  !  } 

Well  she  noted  each  mark,  and  each  furrow  that  cross'd  j 

O'er  the  tracings  of  destiny's  line  : 
"Whence  came  ye?"  she  cried,  in  astonishment  lost, 

"For  this  child  is  of  lineage  divine  !" 

"  From  the  village  of  Nazareth,"  Joseph  replied, 

"  Where  we  dwelt  in  the  land  of  the  Jew ; 
We  have  fled  from  a  tyrant,  whose  garment  is  dyed 

In  the  blood  of  the  children  he  slew. 
We  were  told  to  remain  till  an  angel's  command 

Should  appoint  us  the  hour  to  retvum  ; 
But  till  then  we  inhabit  the  foreigner's  land. 

And  in  Egj-pt  we  make  our  sojourn. " 

"  Then  ye  tarry  with  me,"  said  the  gipsy  with  joy, 

"  And  ye  make  of  my  dwelling  your  home  ; 
Many  years  have  I  pray'd  that  the  Israelite  boy 

(Blessed  hope  of  the  Gentiles)  would  come." 
And  she  kiss'd  both  the  feet  of  the  infant,  and  knelt. 

And  adored  him  at  once — and  a  smile 
Lit  the  face  of  his  mother,  who  cheerfully  dwelt 

With  her  host  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile. 

The  character  and  prospects  of  Barry  never  presented  themselves  to  his 
friends  under  a  brighter  aspect  than  during  the  period  of  his  intimacy  with  the 
amiable  and  cukivated  indwellers  of  the  Torrione  de  Vetiii  in  the  Vatican 
gardens.  The  soothing  influence  of  the  milder  affections  became  manifest  in 
the  submissive  and  quasi-filxaX  attention  with  which  he  deferred  to  the  counsels 
of  Marcella's  father,  who,  having,  in  virtue  of  his  office,  seen  many  successive 
generations  of  young  enthusiasts  engaged  in  the  same  professional  walk,  was 
eminently  qualified  to  guide  and  to  advise.  The  privilege  of  access  to  the 
gallery  at  hours  when,  by  the  established  regulations,  all  others  were  excluded, 
was  an  advantage  which  Barry  knew  how  to  appreciate,  and  which  I  particu- 
larly notice,  because  it  gave  Occasion  to  an  occurrence  of  which  1  alone  was 
witness,  and  which  I  promised  during  his  lifetime  never  to  disclose.  Since 
his  death,  I  have  had  no  motive  either  for  publishing  or  concealing  this 
anecdote  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  apprehended  that  its  very  singularity  would, 
perhaps,  in  the  estimation  of  many,  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  refusing  all 
credence  to  the  narrative ;  but  in  the  eyes  of  the  select  few,  for  whom  I  write 
[conteiitus  faucis  lectoribus),  I  venture  to  hope  that  the  romantic  nature  of 
the  transaction  will  not,  merely  on  that  ground  alone,  damage  the  statement 
or  prejudice  my  veracity ;  it  being  a  recognized  truth,  that  matters  far  more 
extraordinary  have  occiu-red  in  real  life  than  are  recorded  in  the  wildest  pages 
of  contemporary  fiction. 

Barry  loved  to  study  in  the  Vatican  gallery  by  night — an  indulgence 
which  the  mildness  of  the  season  (it  was  now  the  close  of  May,  1770)  in  the 
genial  climate  of  Italy)  would  occasionally  allow  of  The  modern  custom  of  per- 
mitting foreigners  to  explore  the  museum  by  torchlight,  on  payment  of  certain 
fees,  and  under  particular  circumstances,  had  not  yet  been  established,  so  that 
James  had  no  apprehension  of  intruders  on  the  privacy  of  his  studious 
hours.     There,  by  the  glare  of  a  bronze  lamp,  he  would  sit  while  the  city 


was  hushed  in  repose  ;  and  while  the  ghmmering  flame  would  cast  its  shadowy 
lustre  on  the  contour  of  some  antique  group,  he  would  delight  to  sketch  the 
ghostlike  forms  of  the  mighty  dead,  drinking  deep  of  the  pure  fount  of  Greek 
inspiration.  I  believe  that  I  have  before  adverted  to  the  strange  notion  he  had 
imbibed  that  the  English  artists  at  Rome  were  jealously  watchful  of  his  studies  ; 
that  they  sought  to  appropriate  the  conceptions  of  his  teeming  fancy  and  to 
rob  him  of  his  originality.  Hence,  to  Barry,  the  conviction  of  being  alone  and 
unobserved  constituted  the  real  charm  of  these  nocturnal  pursuits  :  none  but 
I  could  boast  of  ever  being  allowed  access  to  his  vigils  in  the  gallery. 

On  the  evening  of  the  20th  of  May  (the  date  I  have  not  forgotten)  we  had 
both  been  staging  up  late  with  the  old  custode  in  the  Torrione,  and  Barry  had 
been  rather  warmly  engaged  with  his  host  in  a  controversy  respecting  the  rela- 
tive merits  of  the  recumbent  Cleopatra,  and  the  reclining  figure  of  a  colossal 
river  god,  generally  supposed  to  be  the  Nile  ;  when,  as  he  imagined  I  took 
some  interest  on  behalf  of  his  favourite  the  Cleopatra,  he  offered  to  accompany 
me  thither  with,  the  old  custode's  permission,  and  give  me  ocular  demonstration 
of  the  correctness  of  his  views.  As  by  this  time  (it  was  near  midnight)  we  had 
demolished  not  a  few  flasks  of  gensano,  I  felt  nothing  loth  :  so  we  folded  our 
cloaks  about  us,  and  I  bore  the  torch.  I  question  whether  Diom.ed  and 
Ulysses,  in  their  famous  night  excursion  across  the  plain  of  Troy,  experienced 
loftier  emotions  than  did  we,  as  with  echoing  tread  we  paced  the  solemn  halls 
of  the  pontifical  palace  between  ranks  of  antique  statues,  confronting  us  in 
every  possible  variety  of  attitude— menace,  grief,  admiration,  welcome,  or 
terror. 

Nothing  to  my  imagination  appeared  so  illustrative  of  a  visit  to  the  shades  of 
Erebus,  such  as' were  penetrated  by  the  hero  of  the  ".^neid"  and  his  mystic 
guide — 

"  Ibant  obscuri  sola  sub  nocte  per  umbram, 
Perque  domos  Ditis  vacuas,  et  inania  regna  "  (vi.  268). 

Barr>'  would  occasionally  pause  before  some  of  his  marble  favourites,  intro- 
duce me  to  their  individual  merits,  and  teach  me  to  throw  the  light  judiciously, 
delivering  himself  withal  of  some  of  those  striking  theories  which  I  loved  to 
trace  in  his  subsequent  printed  lectures  on  the  art  he  adored.  But  as  we  slowly 
approached  the  Sala  de  Cleopatra,  the  term  of  our  appointed  pilgrimage,  a 
sudden  and  unaccountable  start  on  the  part  of  my  friend  dashed  the  torch  out 
of  my  hand— and  "  111  be  hanged,  Prout  !"  cried  he,  "if  the  ruffians  a'nt 
listening  to  every  word  I  utter  :  did  you  not  see  that  scoundrel  Nollekens 
lurking  there  behind  the  Antinous  ?— by  G— d,  'tis  he  !  "  "  For  shame  !  "  I  re- 
joined ;  "  can't  you  keep  from  cursing  at  this  hour  of  night,  and  in  the  very 

residence    of   the  sovereign  pontiff? Tis  true,    by   hell!"  cried  out  my 

infuriated  friend,  reckless  of  that  stem  reporter  for  the  celestial  press,  the 
recording  angel,  who,  no  doubt,  dropped  a  detersive  tear  upon  an  oath  the 
decided  offspring  and  evidence  of  monomania  :  "but  I'll  teach  the  rascal  to 
exercise  elsewhere  his  talents  as  an  eavesdropper,  a  spy,  and  a  plagiarist !"  So 
saying,  he  rushed  to  the  spot  where  he  fancied  he  had  seen  his  foe  :  and  spite 
of  the  obscurity  of  the  hall,  on  the  floor  of  which  lay  the  extinguished  torch,  I 
could  still  perceive  that  he  had,  in  fact,  grappled  not  with  a  mere  creature  of 
his  troubled  fancy,  but  with  a  boiidfide  human  shape,  muffled  in  the  ample  folds 
of  a  long  ecclesiastical  robe,  and  yielding,  apparently  without  resistance,  to  the 
rude  energy  of  his  assailant.  Barry  soon  relaxed  his  grasp,  when  he  had  clearly 
ascertained  that  his  prisoner  was  an  old  priest  and  an  Italian ;  but  muttered 
still  with  indomitable  wrath,  "  Vou  may  thank  your  stars,  my  boy,  that  you 
weren't  tliat  blackguard  Nollekens."  "  Grazic  tanie,"  was  the  ejaculation  of 
the  venerable  captive,  when  he  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  his  fright. 
"Your  mistake  has  well-nigh  had  consequences  which  none  would  regret  more 


Barry  in  the  Vatican.  265 


than  yourselves.  You  are  foreigners,  and,  if  I  may  judge  from  your  idiom, 
English ;  I  am  a  resident  of  the  palace.  Xo  doubt  a  love  for  the  arts  has 
occasioned  your  presence  here  at  this  unusual  hour.  'Tis  well.  Follow  me 
towards  the  Sala  di  San  Damaso."  There  was  something  authoritative,  as  well 
as  conciliatory,  in  the  tone  of  our  new  acquaintance  :  and  as  I  showed  a  dispo- 
sition to  accept  the  invitation  of  one  whom  I  guessed  to  be  a  dignitary  of  the 
Papal  court,  Barry  did  not  hesitate  to  accompany  me. 

We  paused  not,  we  spoke  not.  Onwards  we  went  through  the  different  cor- 
ridors and  antechambers  that  separate  the  Vatican  gallery  from  that  portion  of 
the  palace  which  our  guide  had  mentioned.  Each  biisola,  each  door  seemed 
to  recognize  the  passage  of  a  master,  flying  open  at  his  touch.  At  length  we 
entered  what  appeared  to  be  a  study.  The  walls  were  hung  with  Flemish 
tapestry,  and  a  bronze  lamp  of  antique  fashion,  dependent  from  the  gilt  oak 
ceiling,'  faintly  illuminated  the  apartment.  In  the  centre,  a  table,  inlaid  with 
exquisite  mosaic,  was  strewed  with  various  documents,  seemingly  of  an  official 
character  ;  amongst  which,  a  single  book,  though  torn  and  disfigured,  quickly 
attracted  my  eye.  I  knew  at  a  glance  the  familiar  folio.  It  was  a  copy  of  that 
splendid  code  of  unrivalled  philosophy  and  exalted  wisdom,  the  magita  charta 
of  science  combined  with  religion,  the  standard  regulations  of  my  old  tutors— 
"  INSTITUTUM  SociETATis  JESU."  We  were  seated  at  the  Italian  prelate's 
request.  A  servant  in  the  papal  livery  was  summoned,  by  a  rapid  signal,  from 
the  adjoining  room  :  a  brief  order  to  bring  wine  and  refreshments  was 
delivered,  and  executed  with  magic  promptitude.  Meantime,  Barry  kept  his 
eve  on  me  to  ascertain  what  I  thought  of  our  singular  position.  Our  host  left 
no  space  for  reflection,  but  pressed  us  with  genuine  hospitality  to  partake  of 
what  lay  before  us.  Wine  is  the  great  dissolvent  of  all  distrust,  the  great 
generator  of  cordialitv.  Never  was  this  recognized  truth  more  forcibly  exem- 
plified than  in  my  friend's  case,  who,  totally  oblivious  of  the  late  awkward 
scuffle  between  himself  and  the  most  reverend  dignitary,  launched  out  into 
a  diversity  of  topics  connected  with  the  fine  arts,  of  which  our  entertainer 
appeared  to  be  a  sincere  and  ardent  admirer. 

Thinking  it  high  time  to  mix  in  the  conversation,  "  I  am  happy  to  find," 
said  I,  quaffing  a  glass  of  Malaga,  "that  the  Jesuits  have  a  friend  at  the  court 
of  Ganganelli." 

"Speak  you  thus,  abbatino  ! "  rejoined  our  host.  "You  are,  then,  an 
admirer  of  Loyola's  institute.  Are  there  many  such  in  France,  where,  it 
appears,  you  have  studied  ?  " 

I  described  the  whole  episcopal  body  of  the  Galilean  Church,  than  which 
there  never  existed,  in  any  age  of  Christianity,  a  more  learned  and  pious  body 
of  men,  as  unanimously  adverse  to  the  proposed  destruction  of  that  invaluable 
Society. 

"  The  King  of  France  and  the  Kings  of  Spain  and  Portugal  happen  to  think 
differently,  young  man,"  said  the  prelate  with  some  warmth,  and  with  a  tone 
that  only  served  to  kindle  my  zeal  in  defence  of  my  old  professors. 

"The  profligate  Duke  de  Choiseul  and  the  very  reputable  [Madame  de  Pom- 
padour may  have  persuaded  the  imbecile  Louis  XV.  to  adopt  the  views  of  the 
writers  in  the  ' '  Encyclopedie."  D'Alembert  and  Diderot  may  possibly  think  that 
the  conductors  of  that  troublesome  periodical,  Le  Journal  de  Trevonx,  might 
be  advantageously  suppressed;  the  Minister  of  his  Most  Cathohc  ^.lajesty  of 
Spain  may  no  doubt  fancy  the  property  of  the  Society  in  the  mother  country, 
in  South  America,  and  in  the  East  Indies,  a  fair  object  of  plunder  ;  the  respect- 
able Marquis  de  Pombal  may  entertain  similar  opinions  at  Lisbon  :  but  surely 
the  judgment  of  a  knot  of  courtly  conspirators  acting  in  unhallowed  concert, 
should  find  its  proper  weight  in  the  balance  of  the  sanctuary.  If  I  mistake  not, 
Catherine  of  Russia  and  the  great  Frederick  of  Prussia  (heretics  though  they 
be)  think  differently  of  the  merits  of  those  extraordinary  men,  and  openly  pro- 


266  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

fess  their  readiness  to  offer  whem  an  asylum  in  their  respective  territories.  But 
if  it  be  true  (as  it  is  rumoured  in  the  Piazza  Colonna)  that  the  restoration  of 
Avignon  and  its  confiscated  territor}-,  estreated  by  France  during  the  late 
pontificate,  is  to  be  the  reward  of  GanganelU's  subserviency  in  this  matter  to 
the  court  of  Versailles,  then  I  must  say,  and  I  don't  care  who  hears  me,  that  a 
more  flagrant  case  of  simony  and  corruption  never  disgraced  the  annals  of  the 
Vatican.  As  to  the  wretched  province  regained  to  the  Holy  See  by  such  means, 
it  may  well  bear  the  denomination  given  of  old  to  the  Potter  s  field,  Hakel- 
DAMA  !  " 

A  dismal  scowl  passed  over  the  brow  of  the  prelate.  "  Is  it  not  the  first 
duty  of  the  suprem.e  pastor,"  he  hastily  observed,  "  to  conciliate  the  heads  of 
the  Christian  flock  ?  Your  own  country  teaches  a  lesson  on  pontifical  obstinacy. 
Had  Clement  VII.  shown  less  rigour  in  refusing  to  propitiate  your  Eighth 
Harry,  by  sacrificing  to  his  whim  the  rights  of  Queen  Katherine,  England 
would  at  'this  day  be  the  most  valuable  feoff  of  St.  Peter's  domain.  In  bygone 
days,  the  request  of  Phihppe  le  Bel,  backed  by  the  Emperor  and  the  Kings  of 
England  and  Spain,  was  deemed  sufficient  in  the  teeth  of  evidence  to  condemn 
the  noble  brotherhood  of  the  Temple.  These  orders  are  of  human  institution  : 
the  Jesuits  must  be  yielded  up  to  the  exigency  of  the  times.  To  appease  the 
outcry,  to  calm  the  effervescQifice  of  the  moment,  the  Pope  may  safely  dismiss 
his  'Janissaries.'  " 

"Yet  the  day  may  come,"  I  replied,  "when  Catholicity  may  want  the 
powerful  aid  of  science  and  of  literature— when  the  paltry  defence  of  ignorant 
bigotry  will  be  no  longer  of  any  avail,  when  all  the  motley  host  of  remaining 
monks  and  friars,  white,  black,  and  grey,  will  find  their  inability  to  fill  the 
space  left  void  by  the  suppression  of  that  intellectual  and  redeeming  order, 
and  when  all  the  resources  of  learning  and  genius  will  be  required  to  fight  the 
battle  of  Christianity." 

Two  hours  had  now  elapsed  since  our  midnight  adventure,  and  the  warning 
chime  of  the  palace  belfry  gave  me  an  opportunity,  in  accordance  with  Barry's 
repeated  signals,  to  take  leave.  The  prelate,  having  carefully  ascertained  our 
names  and  address,  placed  us  under  the  guidance  of  the  attendant  in  waiting, 
who  led  us  by  the  cortile  dei  Suizzeri  to  the  Scala  Regia  ;  and  we  finally  stood 
in  front  of  St.  Peter's  Church.  We  paused  there  awhile,  little  dreaming  that 
it  was  the  last  night  we  should  pass  in  Rome.  The  moon  was  up,  and  the 
giant  obelisk  of  Sesostris,  that  had  measured  the  sands  of  Lybia  with  its 
shadow,  now  cast  its  gnomon  to  the  ver\^  foot  of  that  glorious  portico.  Gushing 
with  perennial  murmur,  the  two  immense yf/j  d'eau  flung  out  their  cataracts  on 
each  side  of  the  sublime  monument,  and  alone  broke  with  monotonous  sound 
the  silence  of  the  night. 

Poor  Marcella  !  those  two  hours  had  been  a  space  of  severe  trial  and  sad 
suspense  for  thee  ;  but  we  knew  not  till  months  had  elapsed  the  fatal  conse- 
quences that  ensued.  Barry,  when  he  parted  with  her  father,  had  promised  to 
remain  but  a  moment  in  the  gallery,  and  old  Centurioni  bade  his  daughter 
wait  up  for  his  guests  while  he  himself  sought  his  quiet  pillow.  Hours  rolled 
on,  and  we  came  not.  The  idea  of  nocturnal  assassination,  unfortunately  too 
familiar  to  the  Roman  mind,  awakened  by  the  non-appearance  of  the  Irish 
artist,  took  rapid  possession  of  her  kindhng  imagination  as  she  watched  in  the 
Torrione  in  vain  for  his  return. 

The  transition  from  doubt  to  the  certainty  of  some  indefinable  danger  wai 
the  work  of  an  instant.  Yielding  to  the  bold  impulse  of  hereditary  instinct, 
she  seized  the  bronze  lamp  that  burned  on  the  mantelpiece,  grasped  a  Damas- 
cene blade,  the  weapon  of  some  crusader  in  olden  time,  and  gliding  with  the 
speed  of  thought,  was  soon  far  advanced  in  her  searching'  progress  through  the 
corridors  and  galleries  of  the  palace.  Had  the  statue  of  Lucretia  leaped  from 
its  pedestal,  it  might  present  a  similar  appearance  in  gesture  and  deportment. 


Barry  in  the  Vatican.  267 

Alas,  she  was  never  to  re-enter  the  parental  dweUing  !  Ere  the  morning  dawned 
the  romantic  girl  was  a  prisoner  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  under  suspicion  of 
being  employed  by  the  Jesuits  to  assassinate  GanganeUi ! 

Strange  whispers  were  current  at  break  of  day — "An  Irish  painter  and  an 
Irish  priest,  both  emissaries  of  '  tke  Society,'  had  been  detected  lurking  in  the 
Vatican  :  an  assault  had  been  made  on  the  sacred  person  of  the  pontiff :  they 
had  avowed  all  in  a  secret  interview  with  his  Holiness,  and  had  confessed  that 
they  were  employed  by  Lawrence  Ricci,  the  general  of  the  order."  At  the 
English  coffee-house  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  the  morning's  gossip  was  early 
circulated  in  Barry's  hearing.  The  truth  flashed  on  his  mind  at  once.  He  ran 
to  my  apartments  :  I  was  thunderstruck. 

Nothing  had  as  yet  transpired  concerning  Marcella's  imprisonment  :  and  we, 
unfortunately,  resolved  on  a  step  which  gave  a  colourable  pretext  to  accusation. 
In  the  hurry  of  our  alarm  we  agreed  on  quitting  Rome  at  noon.  Barry  took  the 
road  to  Bologna,  and  I  was  by  noon  in  the  Pontine  marshes  on  the  road  to 
Naples.  Our  friends  thought  us  safely  immured  in  those  cells  which  the 
"holy  ofiice  "  still  keeps  up  at  its  headquarters  in  the  Dominican  convent 
called,  ironically  enough,  La  Minerva. 

Old  Centurioni  was  debarred  the  privilege  of  seeing  his  daughter  :  in  silent 
anguish  he  mourned  over  the  fate  of  his  child,  and  bemoaned  that  of  the  young 
foreigners,  who,  he  doubted  not,  were  equally  in  the  hands  of  "justice."  But 
the  worst  was  to  come.  That  angelic  being,  whose  nature  was  too  pure,  and 
whose  spirit  was  too  lofty,  to  endure  the  disgrace  and  infamy  imputed  to  her, 
remained  haughtily  and  indignantly  passive  under  the  harsh  and  unmerited 
infliction.  She  gave  no  sign.  An  inflammatory  fever,  the  combined  result  of 
uncertainty  concerning  the  fate  of  her  lover,  and  irritation  at  the  very  thought 
of  such  heinous  guilt  thus  laid  to  her  charge,  closed,  in  less  than  a  fortnight, 
her  earthly  career.  Her  death  set  the  seal  on  my  friend's  evil  destiny  through 
the  remainder  of  his  unblest  and  reckless  pilgrimage. 


268  The  Works  of  Father  Front, 


XIV. 

^\t  gags  0f  6xxi^Xi\m. 

{Fraser  s  Magazine,  Mny,  1835.) 

[Through  this  paper  of  Prout's  as  curious  a  side-light  is  thrown  upon  the  history  of 
Erasmus  as  that  cast  upon  it  fully  a  quarter  of  a  century  afterwards  by  Charles  Reade's 
"  Cloister  and  the  Hearth,"  a  work  which,  it  may  be  interesting  to  remark,  is,  among 
all  its  author's  writings,  his  own  especial  favourite.  That  the  good  Father  of  Water- 
grasshill  had  an  almost  painful  interest  in  and  sympathy  for  the  theme  he  had  here 
selected  is  naively  enough  admitted  by  him  at  its  very  outset.  It  is  with  the  sense 
as  of  a  random  shaft  that  rankles — haret  lateri  lethalis  annido — that  he  cites  from 
Pope  in  allusion  to  Erasmus  "the  glory  of  the  priesthood  and  the  shame."  In  his 
scholarship  and  in  his  wit,  if  in  nothing  else,  Mahony  was  distinctly  Erasmian.  In  the 
number  of  Eraser  containing  this  ingenious  dissertation  on  the  Dutch  scholiast 
appeared  Maclise's  sketch  of  Lady  Morgan,  author  of  "  O'Donnell,"  or,  better  still,  of 
"  Florence  Maccarthy,"as  the  once  wild  Irish  girl  Sydney  Owenson  was  supposed  to  look 
in  her  maturity,  when  critically  trying  on  her  new  bonnet  in  front  of  a  cheval  glass.  The 
fleering  spirit  of  the  time  in  which  Prout  and  his  Fraserian  compeers  flourished,  was 
signally  evidenced  by  Maginn's  allusions,  in  the  accompanying  letterpress,  to  Lady 
Morgan's  sire  having  been  a  gentleman's  gatekeeper,  and  to  her  husband  having  been 
an  apothecary  who  had  suffered  the  penalty  of  knighthood  at  the  hands  of  a  facetious 
lord-lieutenant.] 


EPA2MIH  trtXtia 
Ild0£i/  TToOff  TTETacro-at 
ITo'^ey  fxvpuju  totovtwv 
Ett'  7/pos  dsouaa 
Uvtm  T£  /cat  xJ/EKaX^m. 

Anacreon,  Ode  g. 

Gentle  shade  of  the  scholar  whose  writings  combined 
With  the  lore  of  the  priesthood  the  views  of  a  sage  : 
Wit  and  wisdom  allied  in  thy  volumes  I  find. 
And  the  perfume  of  piety  breathes  from  thy  page. 

Proui. 

The  restoration  of  letters,  with  the  general  revival  of  classic  taste,  of  which 
the  pontificate  of  Leo  X.  gave  the  signal  to  Europe,  forms  an  epoch  of  sur- 
passing interest,  and  we  are  not  displeased  at  the  opportunity  afforded  us,  by 
the  following  rhapsody  from  Prout's  coffer,  of  reverting  to  those  "prime  of 
days."  Right  pleasing  and  delectable,  in  mental  as  well  as  physical  enjoy- 
ments, is  variety.  Hence,  turning  awhile  from  the  frivolous  pastimes  of  a 
novel-writing  generation,  it  is  our  design  to  commune  for  a  sober  hour  with 
men  of  another  age,  to  exchange  the  foolscap  octavo  and  the  ghttering  Annual 


The  Days  of  Erasmus.  269 


for  the  parchment  tome  and  the  copper-fastened  folio.  Thus  shall  we  best 
eschew  the  horrors  of  monotony,  and  "  minister  to  the  mind  diseased  "  a  dose 
of  true  "  physic  for  the  soul." 

To  us,  deep  pondering  on  the  present  posture  of  literary  affairs,  and  much 
meditating  on  the  future  prospects  of  the  learned  republic,  the  retrospect 
becomes  an  exercise  of  solemn  and  oflflcial  duty,  nor  is  it  without  befitting 
anxiety  that  we  are  compelled  to  notice,  in  comparing  our  actual  position  with 
the  past,  strong  symptoms  of  a  state  which  we  will  describe  best  in  our  friend 
Lardner's  phraseology,  by  the  scientific  terms  "backward  advancement  and 
retrograde  progression."  For  it  will  sometimes  occur  to  us,  in  our  meditative 
soliloquy,  to  pass  in  review  before  our  mind's  eye  and  name  aloud  one  by  one 
the  most  illustrious  of  our  living  authors  :  and  when  we  have  gone  through 
the  morley  nomenclature,  a  palpable  conclusion  oifers  itself  as  the  result  of 
our  scrutiny  ;  we  find  that  we  have  arrived  at  a  period  when,  to  flourish  as  a 
literary  character,  it  is  no  longer  necessary  to  have  devoured  and  digested  the 
contents  of  hbraries,  to  have  wasted  a  puncheon  of  midnight  oil,  to  have  lived 
on  terms  of  long  and  close  intimacy  with  the  coy  sisterhood  (who  are  known 
to  be  rather  shy  of  indiscriminate  acquaintanceship),  or  to  have  held  converse 
with  the  mighty  dead,  whose  shades  w^ill  not  arise  unless  evoked  by  a  kindred 
spirit.  Nous  avons  changd  totit  cela.  Far  different  are  the  qualifications 
required  to  obtain  success  in  the  field  of  modem  publication.  The  candidate 
for  celebrity  in  the  current  literature  of  the  day  need  not  have  impaired  the 
energies  of  his  intellect  by  too  intense  thinking,  or,  what  is  equally  destructive, 
a  too  extensive  perusal  of  bygone  authors.  His  (or  her)  mind  must  be  as  nearly 
as  possible  a  delightful  blank — what  in  the  philosophy  of  Locke  and  Descartes 
is  denominated  a  tabula  rasa — what  Tom  Moore  calls  a  "virgin  page"  on 
which  study  has  made  no  previous  impression  whatsoever.  It  is  of  the  utmost 
consequence  that  the  neophyte  who  is  anxious  to  be  numbered  among  the 
elect,  that  he  (or  she)  carefully  avoid  the  habits  and  pursuits  of  a  bookworm  : 
antiquated  practices  which  (to  quote  the  same  distinguished  poet  and  moralist) 
should  be  abandoned,  like  "points  of  belief," 

"  To  simpleton  sages  or  reasoning  fools,''  , 

the  memory  of  modem  literati  being  of  too  polished  a  surface,  their  fancy  of 
too  delicate  a  texture,  their  ideas  too  "  transient  and  brief," 

"  To  be  sullied  or  stained  by  the  dust  of  the  schools."' 

Hence,  if  there  happen  to  be  some  traces  of  early  reading,  some  remnants 
faint  and  indistinct,  of  classical  instruction,  the  sooner  they  are  obliterated  the 
better.  The  scribes  who  flourished  during  the  "decline  and  fall,"  when  they 
got  hold  of  a  vellum  disfigured  by  compositions  of  the  Augustan  age,  took 
especial  pains  to  efface  every  appearance  of  the  previous  characters  ere  they 
converted  it  into  q.  palimpsest. 

A  striking  circumstance  in  the  condition  of  modem  authorship  is  the 
multitude  of  female  aspirants  to  literary  renown.  But  we  think  we  can 
readily  account  for  it.  The  sex  is  quick-sighted.  Perceiving  that  it  was  no 
longer  necessary,  under  the  new  system,  to  have  accumulated  [oleo  vigilante) 
a  stock  of  ideas  ere  commencing  business  as  a  bookmaker,  they  could  not 
brook  that  the  men  should  enjoy  a  monopoly.  Learning  hath  no  longer  any 
propria  qucB  maribus.  Heretofore  they  had  abstained,  from  the  false  notion 
that  there  existed  some  such  kind  of  Sahc  law  in  the  republic  of  letters ;  but 
on  bringing  the  point  to  issue,  they  have  found  no  disqualifying  obstacle  to 
their  ambition.  Already  do  we  contemplate  hterature  in  that  state  which,  to 
French  jurisprudence,  is  known  by  the  term  "  tombie  e?i  quenouille."  Success 
the  most  triumphant  has  crowned  their  labours ;  for  these  female  lucubrations 


270  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit, 

possess  a  jc  ne  sqais  qtioi  not  given  to  the  dull  effusions  of  their  male  com- 
petitors. Who  would  not  prefer  a  treatise  on  utilitarian  philosophy  by 
Martineau  or  Edgeworth  to  the  Benthamite  ravings  of  Brougham  or  Bowring  ? 
Can  Basil  Hall  as  a  writer  of  travels  bear  comparison  with  the  sagacious 
Trollope  ?  Is  the  poetry  of  Haynes  Bayly  or  Bob  Montgomery  a  whit  better 
than  that  of  Mrs.  Norton  or  Mrs.  Barry  Wilson  ?  Does  not  the  eccentric 
and  flaring  planet  of  Mother  Morgan  run  a  career  of  glory  in  breadth  and 
brilliancy  far  surpassing  the   narrow  orbit  through  which  creeps   along   the 

minor  star  of ?    And  since  the  appearance  of  a  late  work  on 

the  "  Connexion  of  the  Physical  Sciences,"  have  we  not  seen  the  transcendent 
blue  light  of  Mrs.  Somer\-ille,  F.R.A.S.,  rise  to  an  astonishing  altitude  in  the 
regions  of  astronomy,  while  the  lantern  of  Lardner  sank  proportionally  below 
the  horizon  ?  How  much  superior  is  the  learned  lady  to  the  discomfited 
quack,  and  how  well  does  she  wear  her  laurels  ! 

"  D'ou  vient  qu'elle  a  I'oeil  trouble  et  le  teint  si  tenue? 
C'est  que  sur  le  calcul,  dit-on,  de  Cassini, 
Un  astrolabe  en  main  elle  a,  dans  sa  gouttl^re, 
A  suivre  Jupiter  passe  la  nuit  entiere." 

Boileaii,  Sat.  x.  v.  430. 

It  was  formerly  considered  the  peculiar  attribute  of  Bologna  to  produce  female 
lecturers  on  the  abstruse  sciences  ;  but  that  celebrated  city  can  no  longer  boast 
of  exclusively  possessing  she  professors. 

Nor,  in  contemplating  the  surrounding  phenomena  of  the  publishing  world, 
should  we  overlook  the  labours  of  the  Society  for  Diffusing  Useful  Knowledge — 
that  wondrous  apparition  !  foreseen  and  foretold  as  early  as  the  reign  of  Queen 
Anne  by  the  author  of  a  poem  called  the  "  Dunciad,"  who,  through  a  vista  of 
coming  years,  in  the  depth  of  futurity  got  a  glimpse  of  the  many-plumed 
phantom  sitting  on  the  dome  of  the  London  University, 

"  With  wings  outspread. 
To  hatch  a  new  Saturnian  age  of  lead." 

The  benevolent  individuals  with  whom  this  diffusive  project  originated  saw 
that  learning,  like  landed  property,  was  very  uneqtially  divided  among  man- 
kind ;an  d  with  a  philanthropic  ardour  resolved  to  apply  the  principle  of  the 
agrarian  law,  which  had  hitherto  only  been  thought  applicable  to  estates  and 
visible  wealth,  to  the  riches  of  the  intellect.  Strange  to  say,  people  have  been 
found  so  wedded  to  existing  abuses,  as  to  question  whether  society  would,  in 
either  case,  be  bettered  by  the  achievement ;  and  the  intellectual  levellers  have 
been  accused  of  wishing  to  introduce  that  chaos  and  confusion  into  the 
domain  of  the  mind  which  their  brethren,  the  radicals,  seek  to  establish  in 
the  political  world.  Meantime  ''  fet~cet  opus"  the  Peiniy  Magazine  circulates 
its  thousands,  and  the  "  Penny  Cyclopiedia"  its  tens  of  thousands.  The  old 
modes  of  acquiring  knowledge,  our  traditionary  routines  of  study,  our  halls 
and  collegiate  institutions,  must  shortly  give  place  to  a  more  enlightened 
system.  But,  alas  !  that  the  writers  thus  enlisted  and  en-regimented  in  the 
service  of  diffusion  should  be  so  generally  known  as  a  motley  crew  of  half- 
taught  blockheads.  Even  so,  and  it  doth  certainly  seem  unto  us,  who  state 
the  fact  with  sorrow,  that  the  selection  of  the  men  appears  to  have  been  made 
on  the  principle  adopted  by  Gideon  in  the  choice  of  his  soldiers,  to  wit,  all  who 
have  stooped  down  to  drink  deep  and  leisurely  of  the  stream  that  flows  from 
the  fountain  of  Helicon,  have  been  carefully  excluded,  to  make  way  for  those 
ruder  heroes  who  have  quaffed  in  their  rugged  palm  c?i  passaut  barely  enough 
to  moisten  their  barbarous  lips  ere  they  set  out  on  their  crusade  of  "  diffusion." 
Whether  the  light  that  is  to  shine  from  their  broken  pitchers,  and  the  dis- 


The  Days  of  Erasmus.  271 

cordant  noise  of  their  penny  trumpets,  will  be  eventually  triumphant,   time 
will  tell. 

The  sixteenth  centur}'  opened  with  different  views,  and  the  writers  of  that 
day  were  folks  of  a  different  calibre.  Long  and  well-regulated  study,  a  con- 
stant recurrence  to  the  great  models  that  adorned  the  age  of  TuUy  and 
Pericles,  laborious  habits,  indefatigable  enthusiasm,  cautious  inquiry,  with 
modesty  and  diffidence,  are  qualities  invariably  found  in  those  who,  at  the 
time  of  LeoX.,  contributed  to  the  development  of  solid  information  and  the 
spread  of  classic  taste — Sicfortis  Etruvia  crevit.  It  may  be  useful  to  glance 
at  the  period  of  the  revival  in  these  utilitarian  days,  when  the  value  of  such 
studies  is  more  than  questioned ;  when  a  shower  of  tiseful  publications  shot 
forth  from  the  crater  of  "  diffusion,"  like  the  ashes  that  over\vhelmed  Pompeii, 
bid  fair  to  bury  in  oblivion  every  trace  of  classic  literature,  every  vestige  of 
Greek  and  Roman  elegance. 

OLIVER  YORKE. 


Watergrasshill,  1830. 
Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  who  was,  according  to  a  Catholic  poet, 

"  The  glory  of  the  priesthood,  and  the  shame"  {Pope), 

may  naturally  enough  be  supposed  to  have  drawn  on  his  character,  writings, 
and  biography  much  of  sacerdotal  attention.  His  "  Life  and  Times"  present 
interest  and  attraction  for  all,  because  mixed  up  with  two  coeval  events,  the 
most  important  in  modern  times — the  restoration  in  letters  and  the  reformation 
in  religion,  but  to  "his  order"  such  a  man  must  ever  be  an  object  of  curious 
speculation  and  careful  study.  What  the  Y.ikwv  BacrtXtK-jj  is  to  kings  should  the 
"Opera  Erasmi  "  be  to  priests — a  manual  of  deep  and  wholesome  reflection. 

It  was  the  fate  of  Erasmus  during  life  to  be  abused  by  the  bhnd  zealots  of 
both  parties,  while  the  enlightened  and  pacific  spirits  on  either  side  invited 
him  to  their  ranks,  and  claimed  him  as  a  friend.  The  abettors  of  the  reforma- 
tion still  seek  to  number  him  among  the  promoters  and  instigators  of  that 
daring  measure,  while  the  sincere  and  dispassionate  defenders  of  the  old  faith 
indignantly  deny  the  claim,  and  pronounce  him  decidedly  their  own.  Troy 
and  Greece  contended  for  the  corpse  of  Patroclus  :  angels  fought  for  the  body 
of  Moses. 

The  learned  Benedictine,  MontfauQon,  in  that  work  of  wonderful  erudition, 
"Diarium  Italicum"  (4to,  Paris,  1792),  at  page  50,  gives  us  an  account  of  a 
certain  hbrary  in  \'enice,  belonging  to  the  Dominican  friars,  in  which,  to  his 
surprise,  he  found  Erasmus  figuring  among  a  group  of  Illustrious  heretics 
carved  in  wood,  and  undergoing  appropriate  chastisement  in  elTfigy,  a  sight 
which  seems  to  have  roused  the  bile  of  the  distinguished  traveller  and 
judicious  ecclesiastic,  who  thus  records  his  disapproval — ''  Bibliotheca  ist  hccc 
ortiata  ligneis  statiiis  est  Catholic  or  jini  insipiium  virorum  hinc  hereticorum 
inde ;  inter  hereticos  visu7itor  ERASMUS,  catenis  oftustus  et  Gulielmus  a 
Sto.  Amore  pariter  alligatus  appositis  dicteriis  (lampoons)  hosce  VIROS  quam 
Lutherum  et  Calvinum  infamantibus."  *  Such  has  ever  been  the  practice 
of   ignorant  fanatics ;    if   you    denounce   their    mischievous   intolerance,   or 

*  Those  exquisite  wood-carvings  by  Brustolini  which,  in  1702,  excited  the  attention  of 
Montfau9on,  have  in  the  course  of  events  been  removed  from  the  library  of  SS.  Giovanni 
e  Paulo  at  Venice,  and  have  found  their  way,  after  sundry  vicissitudes,  to  this  country, 
and  are  now  exhibited  at  No.  21,  Bond  Street ;  and  have  been  pronounced  by  connois- 
seurs to  be  admirable  specimens  of  that  species  of  sculpture  of  which  the  "  truncus 
flentous"  supplies  the  material. — O.  Y. 


ridicule  their  cherished  absurdities,  you  will  infallibly  be  proclaimed  the  foe  of 
Virtue  and  Religion,  with  which  they  have  the  modesty  to  identify  them- 
selves. 

"  Qui  n'aime  pas  Cotin  n'estlme  pas  son  roi, 
Et  n'a  (selon  Cotin)  ni  Dieu,  ni  foi,  ni  loi." 

This  tendency  to  repudiate  the  most  distinguished  of  their  brethren,  and  to 
stigmatize  with  odious  imputations  characters  in  whom  they  ought  to  glory,  is 
too  frequently  obser\'able  among  certain  classes  of  churchmen  :  and  it  is  pitiful 
to  find  a  similar  attempt  to  tarnish  the  fair  fame  of  the  Franciscan  Roger  Bacon, 
hy  the  historian  of  his  order  {Wadding,  A.D.  1278,  §  26).  The  inventor  of 
gunpowder  was,  it  appears,  by  no  means  in  good  odour  among  his  cowled 
brethren,  who  fancied  him  in  league  with  Beelzebub.  There  was,  doubtless,  a 
certain  atmosphere  redolent  of  brimstone  in  his  cell ;  he  was  accordingly 
doomed  to  expiate,  in  canonical  confinement,  the  sin  of  genius.  Roger 
Bacon  laboured  in  his  day  under  strong  suspicion  of  heresy  or  atheism, 
from  which,  however,  he  has  been  fully  absolved  by  the  just  verdict  of 
posterity. 

"  Vois-tu  dans  la  carriere  antique 
Autour  des  coursiers  et  des  chars 
Voler  la  poussiere  olj'mpique 

Qui  les  derobe  a  nos  regards  ! 
Dans  sa  course  ainsi  le  genie, 
Par  les  nuages  de  I'envie, 

Marche  longtemps  environne 
Alais  au  terme  de  la  carriSre 
Des  flots  de  I'indigne  poussiere 
II  sort  vainqueur  et  couronne." 

LaJiiartifU, 

"  Hast  thou  marked,  in  the  Circus  of  Rome, 

The  course  of  the  charioteer? 
While  his  figure,  obscured  by  the  dust  and  the  foam,  " 
Grows  confused  on  the  sight,  through  the  broad  hippodrome 

Still  he  holds  his  proud  career. 
Thus  Genius  is  doomed  to  awaken  the  wTath 
Of  the  envious  and  dull,  in  his  conquering  path 

Proclaimed  as  an  offender  : 
But  the  victor  anon,  amid  welcoming  friends, 
While  the  vapours  subside,  from  his  chariot  descends 

At  the  goal  in  a  flood  of  splendour." 

He  who  records  in  these  pages  his  honest  admiration  of  the  sage  of  Rotter- 
dam may  possibly  come  in  for  a  share  of  the  abuse  lavished  on  his  hero ;  but 
he  has  provided,  in  posthumous  pubUcation,  a  comfortable  method  of  escaping 
from  the  dunce's  comment  and  the  bigot's  unchantableness.  Into  whatever 
hands  those  papers  are  destined  to  fall,  whatever  eye  they  are  fated  to  meet, 
whether,  mixed  in  gay  confusion  with  the  novels  of  the  season,  they  are  pre- 
destined to  bestrew  the  rosewood  table  of  the  boudoir,  or,  wrapped  in  parch- 
ment winding-sheet,  they  are  to  be  solemnly  inumed  in  the  British  Museum 
with  the  Cottonian  and  Harleian  MSS. ;  whether  they  are  to  ride  swimmingly  on 
the  tide  of  public  favour,  or  sink  to  the  bottom  with  the  "  Cabinet  Cyclopaedia,  " 
many  years  before  their  contents  undergo  perusal,  their  unknown  and  unpre- 
tending wTiter  shall  have  gone  down  into  the  impregnable  security  of  the  grave. 
Unheeded  as  the  empty  wind,  the  voice  of  calumny  may  whistle  over  his  rest- 
ing-place, the  incense  of  flatter>'  may  breathe  alike  its  disregarded  fragrance 
on  the  breeze  that  fans  his  mountain-bed.  Prout  will  sleep  on,  safe  from  the 
clamour,  the  passions,  and  the  bitterness  of  the  world. 

He  hopes,  with  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  never  to  pen  a  sentence  which,  dying, 
he  should  wish  to  blot;  but  dead,  he  must  be  henceforth  insensible  to  all 


The  Days  of  Erasnuis.  273 

worldly  considerations.  Cicero,  wTiting  to  his  friend,  the  historian  Lucceius,  on 
a  subject  of  peculiar  delicacy,  begins  his  letter  with  the  celebrated  maxim, 
Epistola  noil  crubescit.  But  whom  does  the  ci-devufit  incumbent  of  W'ater- 
grasshill  care  to  propitiate  or  fear  to  offend?  What  fellow-mortal's  opinion 
can  benefit  or  injure  him,  who  has  already  appeared  before  that  tribunal  where 
all  shall,  in  due  time,  take  their  turn  with  naught  to  follow  them  but  their 
works,*  where  each  shall  have  to  account  for  a  career  of  usefulness  or  a  life  of 
indolence,  of  honourable  exertion  or  dishonourable  sloth,  where  all  things  will 
be  reduced  to  their  simplest  expression,  and  all  men  will  find  their  proper  level 
— the  unsceptred  monarch,  the  unermined  judge,  the  unmitred  prelate,  the 
uncowled  monk,  and  the  unmasked  hypocrite. 

The  drift  and  tendency  of  those  remarks  will  be  caught  by  the  initiated  for 
whom  he  writes.  I'o  them  it  will  not  be  necessarj'-,  in  the  language  of  old 
Chrysostom,  to  cry  out  KxatrLv  ol  fxiixvi]ijitvoL  tu  Xayo/xcva.  To  those  who 
have  known  the  pastor  of  W'atergrasshill,  it  will  be  needless  to  protest  of  his 
unalterable  fidelity  to  that  Church  which  first  won  his  affectionate  adhesion  and 
kept  it  to  the  last  unimpaired. 

"  Ilia  meos  primum  quae  me  sibi  junxit,  amores 
Abstulit :  ilia  habeat  secum  serv-etque  sepulchre." 

^nc/d.  IV. 

But  he  thinks  it  right  thus  to  lay  stress  and  emphasis  on  the  sincerity  of  his 
attachment  to  that  faith,  lest  it  might  be  presumed  for  a  moment  that,  in 
chasing  the  foes  of  enlightenment  and  of  liierature,  his  aim  was  directed  against 
what  he  holds  sacred— lest  what  occurred  to  Diomed  under  the  walls  of  Troy, 
might  happen  to  Prout  in  the  course  of  his  rambling  essay,  if,  by  a  fatal  mis- 
c  ha  ice,  he  should  wound  a  goddess  in  seeking  to  slay  an  enemy  of  the 
Grecians. 

I  find  I  have  quoted  from  the  Greek  bishop  one  of  those  formulas  which  early 
Christianity  borrowed  from  the  Eleusinian  mysteries,  when  a  warning  to  depart 
was  intimated  to  all  persons  not  qualified  to  talce  part  in  the  subsequent  rites. 
Its  introduction  here  may  serve  as  a  signal  for  the  frivolous  and  profane  to  re- 
linquish any  further  perusal  of  this  paper,  of  which  they  will  relish  little  and 
comprehend  less.  Should  any  such  persist  in  following  the  writer  through  the 
details  and  disquisitions  that  may  ensue,  disappointed  in  the  results,  they  will 
most  probably  act  hke  some  who  visited  the  incommunicative  Sibyl  in  her 
cave, — 

"  Inconsulti  abeunt,  sedemque  odere  Sibyllas." 

The  period  during  which  Erasmus  thought,  wrote,  and  travelled,  alternately 
shedding  the  influence  of  his  genius  over  Germany  and  England,  Italy  and 
France,  happens  to  coincide  with  that  brilliant  epoch  selected  by  the  judicious 
Robertson,  as  the  most  fitted  for  the  display  of  his  comprehensive  views  as  an 
historian.  Throughout  that  valuable  essay,  the  professor  has  proved  himself 
an  acute  inquirer  into  the  secret  causes  that  worked  out  the  destinies  of  society 
during  the  reign  of  Charles  V.  Most  diligently  and  impartially  has  he  set 
forth  the  awful  changes  of  that  eventful  crisis  when  first  began  those  religious 
st^ggles  that  have  long  convulsed  Europe,  and  which  now  seem  to  have  con- 
centrated their  most  ferociotis  energies  within  the  narrow  circle  of  these 
islands  : 

*  This  strain  of  melancholy  musing  seems  to  have  been  an  hereditary  accomplishment 
transmitted  to  Prout  from  his  illustrious  parent,  the  Dean,  who,    in  a  poem  entitled 
\er5es  on  my  own  Death,"  thus  supposes  his  friends  to  commemorate  the  event : — 

"  WTiere  is  this  favourite  of  Apollo  ? 
Departed — and  his  works  must  follow,"  &:c. — O.  Y. 


"  Motum  ex  Metello  consule  civicum 

Bellique  causus et  arma 

Kondum  expiates  uncta  cnioribus." 

In  that  first  outbreak  of  politico-theological  warfare,  many  men  played 
many  parts.  But  Robertson  appears,  in  allotting  to  each  power  and  each 
potentate  his  due  share  in  producing  the' general  result,  to  have  overlooked  or 
underrated  the  importance  of  one  whom  he  affects  to  regard  as  a  mere  hoinme 
de  lettres.  The  sword  of  Francis,  the  sceptre  of  Henry,  the  imperial  diadem 
of  Charles,  the  hat  of  Wolsey,  the  tiara  of  Leo,  have  ensured  to  them  a  pro- 
portionate space  in  the  chronicler's  narrative.  Amidst  the  tumult  of  contend- 
ing armies  and  the  political  movement  of  the  sixteenth  century,  we  are  made 
distinctly  to  hear  the  boisterous  harangues  of  the  rebel  Saxon  monk,  answered 
by  the  echoing  thunders  of  the  Vatican ;  the  quiet  tracings  of  the  pen  are  not 
heard;  yet  in  the  midst  of  the  turbulence  of  the  reformers  and  the  denuncia- 
tions of  their  antagonists,  there  was  a  gentle  spirit  at  work,  v,  hose  calm  effu- 
sions, not  addressed  to  the  passions  of  the  mob,  but  conveyed  with  persuasive 
efficacy  to  the  ear  of  dispassionate  reason,  obtained  wholesome  ascendency 
over  thinking  minds.  The  opinions  of  Erasmus,  fraught  with  moderation  and 
clothed  with  elegant  diction,  taught  Europe  that  the  cause  of  enlightenment 
was  not  exclusively  advocated  by  the  enemies  of  Rome ;  his  viev.s  of  the  point 
at  issue  between  us  and  the  reformers  showed  how  abuses  might  be  corrected 
and  rotten  boughs  lopped  off,  without  laying  the  axe  to  the  root  of  that  parent 
tree  which  for  so  many  ages  had  overshadowed  the  earth  ;  and  his  exertions  on 
its  behalf  proved,  that  though  some  of  the  clerical  body  might  be  satisfied  to 
repose  under  its  branches  while  it  fed  them  in  indolence  {glande  sues  laeti), 
others  were  feelingly  alive  to  the  necessity  of  working  for  its  preservation.  The 
circulation  obtained  by  the  writings  of  Erasmus  would  be  prodigious  at  the 
present  day.  Those  exquisite  compositions,  falling  like  drops  of  oil  on  the  waters 
of  controversy,  to  a  certain  extent  controlled  and  lulled  the  fury  of  theological 
wrath.  By  the  grace  of  style,  and  the  charm  of  wit,  a  simple  ecclesiastic,  in 
the  retirement  of  his  study,  perceptibly  swayed  the  judgment  of  his  contem- 
.poraries,  and  became  the  arbiter  of  Opinion  at  a  time  when  it  exercised  a  vital 
influence  on  the  destiny  of  nations ;  thus  he,  too,  might  have  exclaimed,  like 
^Mirabeau,  when  reminded  of  the  "powers"  of  Europe,  "  Ceite  tctc  est  aussi 
u}ie  puissance." 

Neither  am  I  satisfied  with  the  sort  of  cursory  notice  bestowed  on  Erasmus 
in  Bosio's  "  Leo  X."  The  intimacy  and  affectionate  correspondence  which  sub- 
sisted between  those  two  distinguished  churchmen,  so  well  fitted  to  appreciate 
each  other,  did  honour  to  both  ;  but  it  would  not  be  easy  to  decide,  on  a  close 
scrutiny  of  causes  and  effects,  the  relative  proportion  in  which  the  munificent 
patronage  of  the  pontiff  and  the  indefatigable  labours  of  the  priest  contributed 
to  the  diffusion  of  classic  taste  and  the  revival  of  elegant  literature.  It  is  witli 
pleasurable  feelings  that  I  record  as  it  occurs  en  passant  a  gratifying  proof  of 
co-operation  between  those  two  kindred  minds  ;  I  allude  to  the  edition  of  the 
New  Testament  in  Greek,  tiie  first  ever  published,*  which  Erasmus  appropri- 
ately dedicated  to  the  liberal  occupant  of  the  papal  chair  ;  a  homage  accepted 
by  Leo  with  pride,  and  becomingly  acknowledged  in  a  brief,  dated  1516. 
The  pope  reiterated  his  approbation  in  151 8,  when  a  monkish  clamour  had 
been  raised  against  the  editor  in  Spain  and  the  Low  Countries.  But  I 
anticipate  on  the  events  which  marked  the  career  of  the  learned  priest  in  the 
progress  of  his  literary  life — a  career  which  brought  him  in  contact  with  almost 

•  The  Polyglot  Bible  of  Alcala,  which  comprised,  of  course,  the  Greek  Testament  (and 
for  which  the  world  is  indel)ted  to  Cardinal  Ximenes),  though  printed  in  1514,  ^\■'1s  not 

published  till  1522,  so  that  the  honour  of  the  cditio  princcps  belongs  to  Erasmus. — 
PRorr. 


The  Days  of  Erasmus.  275 

every  contemporary  personage  of  celebrity  in  Europe.  Erasmus  was  born  at 
Rotterdam,  2Sth  (Jctober,  a.d.  1467,  and  thus  saw  the  light  shortly  subsequent 
Xo  the  discovery  of  the  printing  press.  There  is  a  species  of  romance  connected 
with  his  parentage.  She  who  gave  him  birth  was  the  daughter  of  a  physician  in 
the  small  hamlet  of  Sevenberghen,  in  Brabant.  An  attachment  grew  up  between 
this  girl  and  a  youth  named  Gerard ;  but  the  friends  of  the  latter  most  un- 
reasonably opposed  their  lawful  union.  Harsh  treatment  was  resorted  to,  and 
threats  held  out  to  deter  the  lover  frojn  the  proposed  aUiance.  Forced  at 
length  to  fly  from  Holland,  he  took  refuge  in  Rome,  where  in  the  character  of 
a  copyist,  being  a  skilful  penman,  and  the  craft  not  yet  being  superseded  by 
the  "mighty  engine,"  he  contrived  to  maintain  himself,  and  prosecuted  hi's 
studies  as  a  disciple  of  physic,  being  resolved  to  conquer  an  independence  and, 
in  spite  cff  destiny,  marry  the  object  of  his  affections.  Meantime  the  evil  fate 
attendant  on  true  love  tracked  his  footsteps  across  the  Alps ;  reports  and  letters, 
and  irrefragable  proofs,  were  conveyed  to  him  by  his  relatives  of  the  death  of 
her  who  alone  made  life  and  its  pursuits  of  value  to  the  enthusiastic  student. 
This  was  a  concocted  falsehood,  but  it  accomplished  the  object  of  his  persecu- 
tors. Careless  of  future  happiness  on  earth,  and  turning  his  undivided  aspira- 
tions towards  the  immortal  existence  of  which  he  fondly  imagined  his  love  was 
already  participant,  he  presented  himself  as  a  candidate  for  the  priesihood,  and 
thus  solemnly  renounced  all  ties  of  perishable  and  worldly  affection.  And  yet 
his  Marguerite  of  Sevenberghen  was  living  ;  nay,  more,  fxix^i.L^  £v  cpi.\oTt}Ti  ere 
he  had  qu  tted  Holland,  he  had  become  the  parent  of  Erasmus.  Fearing  the 
shame  of  disclosure,  the  young  lady  secretly  withdrew  to  Rotterdam,  and  there, 
in  a  house  still  honoured  by  the  worthy  citizens  of  that  respectable  seaport, 
gave  birth  to  the  greatest  man  in  literature  that  ever  claimed  Holland  as  the 
place  of  his  nativity.  Stratford-on-Avon  is  not  prouder  of  her  Shakspere 
than  they  of  their  learned  townsm.an.  Sundry  inscriptions  adorn  the  old- 
fashioned  mansion,  composed  in  a  vast  variety  of  idioms— Greek,  Latin,  Spanish, 
and  High  Dutch  ;  nay,  it  would  further  appear  that  the  infant,  when  grown  up 
to  the  maturity  of  manhood,  duly  ratified  the  choice  of  his  parent  in  the  selec- 
tion of  his  birthplace,  for  in  all  his  writings,  epistles,  and  title-pages,  he  in- 
variably glories  in  the  surname  oi  Rottcrdatnus :  Desiderius  Erasmus  "of 
Rotterdam." 

His  luckless  parent  was  shortly  afterwards  carried  off  by  the  plague  ;  and 
his  father,  who  only  returned  from  Rome  to  learn  the  full  extent  of  the  sacrifice 
he  had  made  in  becoming  an  ecclesiastic,  did  not  survive  many  months  the 
object  of  his  youthful  attachment. 

A  learned  pundit  of  the  subsequent  centtiry,  Pontus  Hciitcrus,  has  written  a 
singular  book,  -which  he  has  entitled  "  De  Libera  Hominis  Nativitate."  It  is  a 
faithful  exposition  and  catalogue  raiso)iie  of  the  quantity  of  talent  and  genius 
which,  from  time  to  time,  has  been  thus  illegitimately  introduced  into  the  world. 
Among  others  similarly  circumstanced,  the  chronicler  dwells,  with  peculiar 
emphasis,  on  the  birth  of  three  writers,  whose  works  formed  the  substratum 
on  which  the  canon  law,  the  theology  and  ecclesiastical  history  of  the  middle 
ages,  were  entirely  built,  though  all  three  had  been  smuggled  into  this  sub- 
lunan,'  state  of  endurance  by  the  same  process  that  regulated  the  entree  of  him 
of  Rotterdam.  These  worthies  were  Petrus  Lombardus,  the  "Master  of  the 
Sentences,"  Gratianus,  the  compiler  of  the  "  Decretals,"  and  Petrus,  the  author 
of  the  "  Historia  Scholastica."  And  accordingly,  in  the  spirit  of  the  pious 
iEneas — 

"  Xemo  ex  hoc  nuniero  mini  non  laudatus  abibit/' 

Lombard,  or  V&\.&x  Magister,  enjoj-ed  in  his  day,  A.D.  1150,  the  title  which  is 
now  conferred  by  Teutonic  literati  on  one  whose  writings  bear  many  traits  of 
resemblance  to  the  book  of  the  "  Sentences  " — I  mean,  with  all  deference.  "  Der 


2/6  TJic   Works  of  Father  Proict. 

meisire"  Goethe.  For  if  a  bold,  rambling,  discursive  mysticism  made  the 
fortune  of  Lombardus  in  the  dark  ages,  the  modern  German  prodigy  is  fairly 
entitled  to  his  due  share  of  contemporary  applause.  Both  founded  "  a  school," 
both  have  had  their  sworn  adherents,  and  both  equally  deserved  the  enthu- 
siastic admiration  of  the  kindred  herd  whom  they  lead  to  pasture,  et  viiiilo.  tu 
dfg?ius  et  hie.  The  number  of  writers  who,  talcing  for  their  text  the  "  Master 
of  the  Sentences,"  sought  to  unfold  the  recondite  philosophy  therein  contained, 
was  prodigious  in  bygone  days,  but  Thomas  Aquinas  was  by  far  his  most  cele- 
brated commentator,  and  truly  evinced  wonderful  ingenuity  in  his  "  Summa,"  a 
vast  repertory,  devoted  to  the  discussion  of  the  brilliant  ideas  of  "  the  master." 
Aquinas  possessed  an  intellect  of  undoubted  superiority,  though  the  industrious 
exercise  of  so  much  thought  on  such  unsubstantial  theories  reminds  one 
irresistibly  of  the  avocations  of  the  shades  in  Elysium  of  whom  Scarron 
singeth — 

Et  la  sous  I'ombre  d'un  rocher 

Nous  vimes  I'ombre  dun  cocher 

Qui  frottait  rombre  d'un  carrosse 

Aveque  I'ombre  d'une  brosse. 

An  occupation  of  the  mind  which  was  known  to  the  ancient  Greeks  under  the 
name  of  Gy^LOfxay^in. 

The  labours  of  Gratianus  were  of  a  more  positive  and  less  visionary  charac- 
ter. He  devoted  himself,  during  twenty-four  years,  to  the  diligent  collection 
and  systematic  arrangement  of  the  early  canons  of  the  church,  the  decrees  of 
the  councils,  and  the  edicts  issued  by  papal  authority.  These,  with  extracts 
from  the  code  of  Theodosius,  and  scraps  from  the  capitularies  of  Charlemagne, 
have  long  formed  the  groundwork  of  church  discipline  and  canon  law,  and 
have  supplied  the  basis  of  innumerable  works  on  jurisprudence  and  divinity. 
Finally,  Petrus  "  Comestor"  was  so  called,  not  because  he  was  a  gross  feeder, 
but  ailegorically,  in  allusion  to  the  supposed  quantity  of  learning  which  1,  ■ 
must  have  accumulated  in  absorbing  the  contents  of  innumerable  librarir 
Still  it  does  not  appear  that  good  digestion  followed  this  extraordinary-  ment. 
appeiite  ;  his  "  Historia  Scholastica"  is  a  strange  jumble  of  holy  writ,  Sa:.- 
choniathon,  Plato,  Josephus,  and  the  Talmud.  He  died  in  1185,  and  was 
honoured  with  an  appropriate  epitaph  : — 

"Petrus  eram  quem  petra  tegit — dictusque  'comestor,' 
Nunc  comedor,  praebens  vermibus  ipse  cibum  !  " 

Which  quaint  effusion  I  would  not  think  worthy  of  quotation  did  it  not  bear 
some  reference  to  my  subject,  inasmuch  as  it  furnished  the  idea  of  the  follow- 
ing two  lines  by  Friar  Stunica,  who  appears  to  be  the  representative  of  the  wit ' 
and  judgment  of  the  whole  fraternity  : 

"  Hie  jacet  Erasmus,  qui  vivens  pra\-us  erat  mus 
Hunc  vermes  rodunt,  rodere  qui  solitus." 

I  have  been  led  accidentally  into  this  episode  by  the  work  of  Pontus  on 
brilliant  illegitimates  (with  which,  by  the  way,   Cobbett  seems  to  be  totally ' 
unacquainted) ;  but  to  complete  the  picture  of  ecclesiastical  authorship  previous 
to  the  days  of  Erasmus,  I  should  devote  more  space  to  the  writers  of  the  pre-  \ 
ceding  century  than  would  be  either  convenient  or  judicious.     The  works  of 
Albertus  Magnus,  the  subtleties  of  Duns  Scotus,  and,  above  all,  the  career  and 
extravagances  of  .-\belard,  who  in  more  than  one  respect  resembled  Origen  of 
Alexandria,  and  from  whom  his  most  brilliant  disciple,  Peter  Lombard,  derived 
the  raw  material  of  the  "  Sentences,"  would  draw  me  into  an  interminable  and 
inextricable  maze  of  confused  and  inextricable  speculations. 

"  Quo  signa  sequendi 
Falleret  indeprendus  et  insemeabilis  error." — Virgil. 


TJie  Days  of  Erasimis.  277 

\\'e  have  but  few  memorials  of  the  early  studies  of  Erasmus,  yet  the  name 
of  his  first  didasculus  has  been  preserved  in  the  grateful  remembrances  of  the 
Dutch  ;  and  thus  posterity  will  not  be  ignorant  that  one  Peter  W'inkel  kept  in 
those  remote  days  a  sort  of  hedge-school,  in  the  village  of  Tergoa,  near 
Rotterdam.  We  next  find  him  at  the  flourishing  academy  of  Deventer,  in 
Guilderland ;  there  he  had  for  a  schoolfellow  a  sedate  Flemish  lad,  subsequently 
elevated  to  the  papal  chair  under  thenam.e  of  Adrian  IV.,  but  who,  at  the  head 
of  the  Christian  world,  was  as  fondly  and  admiringly  attached  to  his  quondam 
College  chum  as  in  the  freshest  days  of  unsophisticated  boyhood.  To  Adrian  is 
dedicated  the  edition  of  ' '  Arnobius  : "  and  few  indeed  of  the  writings  of  Erasmus 
have  come  to  us  unaccompanied  with  hues  of  distinct  approval  from  the  pen  of 
the  future  pontiff. 

From  Deventer,  our  student  passed  to  an  experimental  acquaintanceship 
with  monastic  observances  among  the  canons  regular  of  Stein,  but  his  sojotirn 
ill  the  cloister  seems  to  have  been  a  monotonous  blank  in  his  youthful  career, 
10  which  he  rarely  alludes  ;  and  when  he  does  refer  to  that  period  of  his  life, 
it  is  with  few  commendations  of  the  monastery  or  its  inmates.  From  Stein,  how- 
ever, is  dated  the  first  (A.  D.  1489)  of  his  voluminous  epistolary  effusions ;  and  in 
this  remarkable  composition  he  %\  armly  espouses  the  cause  of  the  celebrated 
grammarian  Laurence  Valla,  then  at  loggerheads  with  the  same  sort  of 
unteachable  dunces  whom  he  himself  was  destined  through  life  to  encounter, 
and  who  (to  borrow  a  phrase  from  Edmund  Burke)  yelped  at  his  heels  in 
the  persevering  hunt  of  calumny  to  his  very  grave.  He  was  released  from  the 
dulness  of  Stein  by  the  Bishop'of  Cambray,  by  whom  he  was  supplied  with 
funds  to  prosecute  his  studies  at  Paris,  in  the  College  of  Montagu  (1496).  Of 
this  College,  of  its  sour  wine  and  rotten  eggs,  we  have  a  graphic  description 
in  his  "Colloquy  on  Fish  Diet  ;"  and  it  would  seem  that  the  principal  advantage 
that  accrued  to  our  student  from  his  stay  in  Paris  was  the  acquaintance  he 
there  formed  with  young  William  Blount^  Lord  Montjoye,  who  chose  him  as 
his  tutor,  and  by  whose  introduction  he  became  known  to  the  leading  men  of 
the  day  in  England.  We  find  him  at  Oxford  in  1499.  This  first  visit  appears 
to  have  been  one  of  short  duration,  for  in  the  same  year  we  have  an  account  of 
his  being  despoiled  at  Dover  by  the  Custom  House  officers,  on  his  leaving  our 
shores,  of  his  stock  of  the  precious  metals,  amounting  to  fifty  angels,  or  /20, 
under  some  statute  prohibiting  the  exportation  of  bullion— a  species  of  plunder 
of  which  he  loudly  complains,  and,  I  imagine,  not  unreasonably.  The  exchequer 
of  Henry  VH.  could  well  have  spared  the  scholar's  mite  at  this  epoch.  We 
have  letters  dated  Paris  1501,  and  Orleans  same  year,  Louvain  1502,  and  St. 
Omer  1503  ;  in  which  last  residence  he  composed  and  published  his  first  work, 
a  very  remarkable  production  for  that  period,  the  "  Militia  Christiani."  This 
treatise  is  a  judicious  and  manly  exposition  of  Catholic  piety,  in  which,  while 
the  main  features  of  our  ancient' religion  are  carefully  preserved,  the  excrescences 
of  fanatical  follv,  and  the  mischievous  delusions  of  false  devotion,  are  unspar- 
ingly dealt  with;  it  is  a  manual  of  true  catholicity,  presenting  our  doctrines  in 
such  a  light  as  to  disarm  the  hostility  of  our  bitterest  foes,  and  refuting  by 
anticipation  the  yet  unborn  assertions  of  Luther  and  Calvin.  Had  such  unex- 
ceptionable views  of  the  ancient  faith  been  more  generally  entertained  at  the 
period  preceding  the  reformation,  it  is  probable  that  no  such  event  had  occurred 
to  unsettle  Christianity  and  convulse  the  world. 

His  reputation  as  a  literar>'  character  seems  to  have  early  entitled  him  to 
the  notice  of  courts  and  princes,  for  we  find  him  selected  to  pronounce  the 
panegyric  on  Phihppe  le  Beau,  on  his  arrival  at  Brussels  in  1504 ;  an  effusion 
of  eloquence  for  which  he  received  a  present  of  fifty  gold  ducats.  In  :May, 
1506,  we  discover  him  again  in  England,  at  the  country  seat  of  Lord  Montjoye, 
near  Greenwich  ;  from  which  his  visits  to  Thomas  More,  then  a  simple  student 
in  chambers  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  were  frequent,  and,  no  doubt,  mutually  delightful. 


2/8  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

In  his  retrospective  essay  prefixed  to  the  collected  edition  of  his  works,  pub- 
lished long  afterwards  at  Bale  (1540),  he  recurs  with  pleasing  emotion  to  those 
interviews  with  the  embryo  chancellor,  and,  among  other  circumstances,  records 
the  details  of  a  visit  which  he  and  More  made  on  horseback  to  Eltham,*  then 
a  sort  of  nursery  for  the  family  of  Henry  VII.  "  There  we  saw  all  the  royal 
progeny,  except  Arthur,  the  eldest.  Henry,  then  only  a  boy  of  nine  years  old, 
seemed  a  boy  of  goodly  promise ;  on  his  right  was  Margaret,  his  sister,  since 
married  to  King  James  of  Scotland  ;  the  Lady  Alary,  four  years  old,  was  play- 
ing on  his  left,  and  the  infant  Edmund  was  carried  in  arms."  In  the  same 
curious  document  he  relates  a  singular  conversation  which  he  had  with 
Groscyn,  in  tlie  boat  that  plied  at  Lambeth  ferry,  as  he  returned  from  a  visit 
to  Archbishop  Wareham,  to  whom  he  had  been  presenting  his  new  translation 
of  the  "  Hecuba"  of  Euripides.  —  Opcr.  Eras.,  tom.  i,  Basil,  1540. 

The  same  year  he  started  from  England  for  Italy  with  young  Montjoye.  At 
Eologna  he  witnessed  the  triumphal  entry  of  the  warrior  Pope,  Julius  II.,  the 
only  occupant  of  the  papal  chair  of  the  five  pontiffs  who  flourished  in  succes- 
sion in  the  days  of  Erasmus,  by  whom  he  was  not  cherished  and  patronized. 
The  opinions  he  entertained  on  the  subject  of  war,  even  when  waged  by  mere 
secular  princes,  stood  recorded  in  his  treatise  called  "  Querela  pacia  undique 
profligata."  and  it  is  highly  probable  that  they  were  not  to  th.e  taste  of  the  war- 
like representative  of  Peter,  who  seemed  to  confine  his  reading  of  the  life  of 
the  apostle  to  that  passage  where  he  cuts  off  with  his  trusty  sword  the  ear  of 
Malchus.  The  love  of  peace,  and  a  decided  aversion  to  violent  and  sanguinary 
measures,  constituted  the  most  prominent  feature  of  the  scholars  character ; 
and  some  German  Quakers  have  long  since  collected  from  his  works  and  pub- 
lished, under  the  title  of  "  Antipolemes,"  his  sentiments  on  the  folly  and  depra- 
vity of  the  beUigerent  mania  of  the  time,  j  Xor  is  his  hatred  of  bloodshed  less 
conspicuous  (on  a  smaller  scale)  in  the  energy  with  which  lie  denounces  the 
practice  of  flogging  schoolboys,  apropos  of  Dean  Colet's  practice  at  the 
academy  of  St.  Paul's — Quavi  niiilta  felicitissima  ingcnia  pcrdiint  isti  carni- 
Jices,  dfc,  5fc.  ;  though  Solomon  appears  to  have  entertained  a  different  opinion 
in  his  celebrated  commendation  of  the  rod — an  opinion  most  fatal  to  all  succes- 
sive generations  of  boyhood,  and  by  which  the  King  of  Israel  has  occasioned 
to  after-ages  the  demolition  of  more  birch-trees  than  he  had  cut  down  in  his 
lifetime  cedars  of  Lebanon. 

But  to  return  to  Bologna.  At  this  Italian  university  he  condescended  to 
receive  the  degree  of  doctor,  though  it  is  manifest  that  he  attached  but  httle 
value  to  so  sadly  profaned  a  designation;  he  also  completed  there  the  most 
laborious  and  learned  of  all  his  works,  the  "  Adagiorum  Chiliades,"  in  which 
gigantic  undertaking,  unaided  and  alone,  by  the  mere  force  of  reading  the 
most  extensive,  and  memory  the  most  retentive,  he  has  contrived  to  embody  all 
the  wisdom  and  wit  of  antiquity — Greek,  Roman,  and  barbarian — ranging 
through  every  century  and  every  land,  collecting  from  ever}"^  source  the  proverbs, 
axioms,  trite  sayings,  condensed  and  pointed  expressions  of  every  coimtry  and 
every  age — their,  origin,  idiom,  and  tendency  ;  illustrating  them  with  anecdote, 
corollary,  and  comment  as  he  goes  along.  This  vast  repertory  has  supplied  the 
writers  who  succeeded  him  with  inexhaustible  stores  of  ready  and  cheap  erudi- 

*  Eltham  in  Kent  was  the  residence  of  the  Roper  family  ;  and  it  is  possible  that  More's 
visit  had  another  object  beside  that  of  seeing  the  King's  nursery',  and  that  he  was  then 
contemplating  the  establishment  of  one  for  himself.— Pkout.  [The  Father,  in  sajnng 
this,  is  apparently  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  it  was  not  More  himself  but  his  daughter 
Margaret  who  married  into  the  Roper  family.] 

t  Leigh  Hunt,  between  whom  and  Erasmus,  in  style,  genius,  and  spirit  there  are 
many  points  ''>f  resemblance,  has  lately  given  us,  under  the  title  of  "  Captain  Sword  and 
Captain  Pen,"  a  no  less  ingenious  than  benevolent  effusion,  in  which  most  of  the  thoughts 
are  truly  Erasmian. — O.  Y. 


TJie  Days  of  Erasmus.  279 

tion,  and  more  than  once  in  modern  compositions  has  it  been  my  lot  to  recog- 
nize' most  enjoyingly  "original"  reflections  and  '•  novel"  remarks,  startling 
propositions  and  brilliant  "ideas"  which  I  could  at  once  identify  as  "lost," 
"  stolen,"  or  "strayed"  from  the  fold  of  Erasmus. 

A  printer  was  to  be  found  worthy  of  the  work.  He  therefore  repaired  to 
Venice,  where  old  Aldo  Manuzio  had  just  then  set  up  his  immortal  presses,  and 
to  whom  Erasmus  was  a  godsend  of  no  every-day  occurrence.  The  Aldine 
Academy  was  at  once  formed  ;  its  members  were  Bembo  (subsequently  cardinal 
and  secretary  to  Leo  X.);  Bolzani,  author  of  the  first  Greek  grammar; 
Navigero,  Alcander,  Erasmus,  and  Demetrius  Calchondylus,  who  gave  the 
first  edition  of  Homer.  The  workshop  of  the  printer  was  the  centre  of  literary 
attraction  throughout  Europe.  Erasmus  blushed  not  to  perform  the  part  of 
corrector-general  of  the  proof  sheets,  as  each  classic  author  issued  forth  in  suc- 
cession, an  occupation  which  his  enemy  Scaliger  had  the  bad  taste  soon  after 
to  cast  in  his  teeth  as  a  reproach,  in  one  of  those  furious  invectives  wherein  he 
asserts,  with  incredible  impudence,  that,  getting  drijnk  on  Cyprus  wine,  our 
hero  occasionallv  disturbed  the  pressmen,  and  threw  ever>-thing  into  confusion  : 
Xonne  tu  tn  Aldi  officin<x  quaestum  fccisti  corrigendis  exemplaribus  !^JuL 
Ccts.,  Seal.,  cr.  ii. 

On  the  strength  of  this  infuriate  and  unprincipled  diatribe,  the  elder  Scaliger r 
a  name  hitherto  unknown  to  the  republic  of  letters,  first  obtained  a  sort  of 
celebrity.  It  was  a  most  discreditable  di!biit,  and  was  felt  as  such  by  him  who 
inherited  the  name  and  redeemed  it  from  odium,  Joseph  Scaliger  duly  apolo- 
gizing for  the  offensive  proceeding  of  his  parent  Julius.  The  thing  had 
originated  in  an  ingenious  satire  which  Erasmus  had  published  against  a  sect 
of  writers  known  as  Ciceronians,  who  aft'ected  to  eschew  every  Latin  term  not 
sanctioned  by  the  authority  of  the  Roman  orator.  The  ridiculous  purism 
superinduced  by  these  enthusiasts  was  forcibly  exposed  by  our  scholar,  and 
found  a  fit  champion  in  the  pedant  who  took  up  the  gauntlet  in  its  defence. 
He  had  hoped  to  draw  from  Erasmus  a  reply,  which  he  knew  would  inevitably 
carry  his  name  to  posterity.  But  the  grub  was  not  destined  to  be  preserved  in 
amber.  No  immortalizing  essay  was  ehcited  from  his  lofty  antagonist,  and  the 
father  of  the  Scaligers  was  cornpelled  to  adopt  a  less  objectionable  path  to 
eminence  as  a  writer.  He  was  consequently  more  successful  in  giving  his 
attention  to  matters  more  consonant  to  his  professional  pursuits  :  the  "Botany" 
of  Tlieophrastus,  the  "  Physics  "  of  Aristotle,  and  "  Insomnia"  of  Hippocrates, 
subjects  on  which  he  has  thrown  some  light ;  while  in  hterature  and  things  poetical 
he  has  evinced  a  most  depraved  taste,  and  a  most  preposterous  judgment, 
ranking  the  dramatic  works  of  Seneca  with  the  tragedies  of  Euripides,  pro- 
nouncing Juvenal  superior  to  Horace,  and  finding  nought  but  what  was 
"vulgar"  and  "trivial"  in  the  graceful  effusions  of  Catullus. 

Aleantime,  the  labours  of  Erasmus  in  the  Aldine  workshop  v/ere  incessant, 
and  seem  to  have  been  fully  appreciated  by  that  illustrious  father  of  typography, 
who  rendered  such  important  service  to  the  cause  of  solid  learning  at  that 
interesting  period.  To  the  meritorious  printer,  his  learned  friend  has  paid  a 
fitting  homage  in  his  "  Adagia,"  in  the  article  "  Festina  lente."  From  these 
avocations  he  was,  however,  summoned,  in  pursuance  of  an  agreement  entered 
into  ere  his  departure  from  England,  to  take  charge  of  an  iUustnous  pupil  at 
Padua,  in  the  person  of  the  young  Archbishop  of  St.  Andrews,  a  natural  son 
of  James,  King  of  Scotland.  This  scion  of  royalty,  according  to  the  mis- 
chievous practice  of  those  days,  since  happily  discontinued,  had  been  invested 
in  early  youth  with  the  archiepiscopal  dignity,  and  sent  to  pursue  his  ecclesias- 

*  In  her  last  novel,  Lady  Blessington  very  properly  rebukes  old  Scaliger/or  '_'  his 
petulant  attack  on  Erasmus,"  vol.  iii.  p.  210.  The  whole  chapter  is  full  of  judicious 
criticism,  put  in  the  form  of  a  conversation  between  ''  two  gentlemen  at  Verona,  in  tne 
amphitheatre  by  moonlight. — O.  Y. 


28o  The  V/orks  of  Father  Prout. 

tical  studies  at  a  foreign  university.  Erasmus  seems  to  have  brought  his  ^vho]e 
mind  to  the  education  of  the  future  Archbishop,  for  whom  he  composed  sundry 
treatises  ;  and  it  would  no  doubt  liave  been  a  happy  circumstance  for  Scotland 
had  his  pupil  lived  to  rule,  as  primate,  that  Church  which  was  so  soon  to  be 
visited  by  the  frenzy  of  Knox,  and  was  to  witness  the  brutal  murder  of  Arch- 
bishop Sharpe.  The  sentiments  of  liberal  and  tolerant  theology  which,  from 
the  see  of  St.  Andrews,  would  have  spread  around  their  wholesome  and  tran- 
quillizing influence,  might  have  averted  the  subsequent  scenes  of  fanaticism  and 
barbarity.  But  the  career  of  the  Erasmian  primate  was  cut  short  ere  any 
beneficial  result  could  ensue  from  the  principles  instilled  by  so  qualified  a  pre- 
ceptor ;  he  fell  with  the  flower  of  Scottish  chivalry  on  Flodden  Pleld.  Eccle- 
siastical dignitaries  were  not  exempt  in  those  days  from  fulfilling  their  feudal 
o;)ligations  by  personal  attendance  at  the  army.  The  son  of  James  was  one 
of  that  ill-fated  host  who  met  their  doom  in  that  disastrous  camp  :  victor)',  as 
usual,  av.aiting  on  the  standard  of  St.  Cuthbert,  which  was  never  known  to 
return  Inglorious  from  battle,  and  which  was  that  day  displayed  for  the  last 
time  by  an  English  monarch.  Sir  Thomas  More  commemorated  the  death  of 
tlie  young  Archbishop  in  a  feeling  and  appropriate  elegy  ;  and  so  endeared  was 
his  memory  to  Erasmus  that  he  affectionately  preserved,  and  used  on  all  occa- 
sions, a  signet  given  to  him  by  his  pupil,  formed  of  antique //f/'r^  gmvde,  the 
subject  a  terminus  with  the  motto  "  cedo  nulli,"  a  device  which  gave  rise  to 
much  silly  and  uncharitable  comment.* 

In  company  with  his  elcve,  he  proceeded  to  Sienna  and  thence  to  Rome. 
The  Eternal  City  had  long  been  the  favourite  object  of  his  aspirations,  and  it 
may  v/ell  be  imagined  with  what  mental  jubilee  he  explored  its  monuments,  its 
libraries,  and  its  MSS.  On  more  than  one  occasion  did  he  subsequently  regret 
his  refusal  to  accept  the  many  pressing  invitations  of  the  papal  court  to  fix  his 
abode  in  the  midst  of  so  many  resources  for  the  prosecution  of  his  learned 
labours,  but  more  especially  the  friendly  solicitations  of  the  Cardinal  John  de 
Medicis,  whose  discrimmating  mind  soon  discerned  the  merit  of  the  learned 
Dutchman.  I  love  to  contemplate  the  probable  result  of  his  permanent 
sojourn  in  that  capital :  it  is  one  of  the  favourite  day-dreams  in  which  I 
indulge  at  times,  when  the  rancour  of  polemics  and  the  horrors  of  religious 
controversy,  embittering  all  the  relations  of  society  around  me,  force  my  mind 
to  revert  to  the  origin  of  those  calamitous  differences.  Fondly,  in  those 
visionary  imaginings,  do  I  picture  to  myself  Erasmus  quitting  the  counsels  of 
his  distinguished  patron,  who  has  ascended  the  papal  throne  as  Eeo  X.  ;  in  tiiat 
pleasing  illucion  I  fancy  him  exerting  a  salutary  influence  over  the  superior 
pastor,  not  merely  promoting  the  interests  of  literature  and  art,  but  advising 
the  adoption  of  conciliatory  plans  for  the  speedy  termination  of  theological 
wrangling.  I  d'scover  him  witli  complacency  seeking  to  heal  the  wounds  of 
the  Cliurch  which  the  unskilfulnessof  fanaticism  had  only  tended  to  exasperate; 
counselling  the  infusion  of  more  oil  and  less  vinegar;  and  addressing  the 
shepherd  of  the  flock  of  Christ  in  words  not  less  elegant  than  forcible,  from 
their  graceful  allusion  to  his  family  patronymic  : — 

"  Et  .MEDic.-\s  adhibere  m:inus  ad  vulnera  pastor  !  " 

Geor^.  III. 

As  an  adviser  of  Leo  at  the  perilous  crisis  which  was  shortly  to  ensue,  and  as  a 
member  of  the  pontifical  council  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Lutheran  disturbance, 
Erasmus  would  have  been  a  most  valuable  accession  to  the  Vatican  interest ; 

*  The  dunces  who  took  offence  at  this  motto,  imagining  it  to  h~  spoken  by  Erasmus  in 
propria  personiy,  and  not  imderstanding  its  reference  to  the  engraved  figure  op  tlie  gem. 
loudly  denounced  his  arrogance  and  presumption  ;  like  Stunica,  who,  rinding  in  one  of 
his  devotional  works  the  phrase  t^enjianiiin  apostolormn  ti'ieolo^ium,  accused  him  of 
rsprcscnting  the  apostles  as  being  imbued  with  the  German  {.'j  doctrines  of  Luther. 


The  Days  of  Erasmus.  281 

but  when  Paul  III.  subsequently  offered  him  a  cardinal's  hat,  and  proposed 
sending  him  as  his  representative  to  the  Council  of  Trent,  the  favourable  oppor- 
tunity of  conciliating  the  Reformers  had  passed  away,  the  7?iollia  tempora  fundi 
had  been  suffered  to  elapse,  and  the  plague  of  irretrievable  dissension  was 
entailed  on  Europe  for  ever. 

While  he  was  thus  resident  in  the  capital  of  the  Christian  world,  mingling  in 
the  society  of  its  most  distinguished  scavans,  in  constant  communication  with 
Jerome  Vidas,  Saunazar,  Fracastor,  and  the  other  wits  of  the  day,  and  enjoyino- 
the  wondrous  spectacle  which  Rome  then  presented  in  the  creations  of  pamting^ 
sculpture,  and  architecture,  as  they  hourly  developed  their  rival  prodigies,  a 
hurned  despatch  reached  him  from  Sir  Thomas  More  urging  his  immediate 
return  to  England.  The  letter  announced  to  him  the  agreeable  tidings  of 
young  Henry  s  accession  to  the  throne  :  and  More  dwelt  with  confidence  on 
the  expectations  which  this  event  gave  him  reason  to  entertain.  Nor  was 
Erasmus  less  disposed  to  augur  favourably  of  the  new  sovereign  :  and  the 
terms  in  which  he  couched  his  reply  designating  the  young  king  as  "  Henricus 
Octavus  scuforsum  OcTAVius,"  sufficiently  expresses  the  nature  of  his  antici- 
pations. He  set  out  on  horseback  (his  invariable  mode  of  travelling),  and 
reached  England  towards  the  end  of  May.  It  was  during  this  equestrian 
expedition,  and  while  crossing  the  Alps,  that  his  ever-active  mind  conceived 
the  plan  and  collected  the  materials  of  that  most  exquisite  composition  the 
Mwptas  iyKU)/j.Lov.  This  fact  I  gather  from  the  preface,  in  which  he  dedicates 
the  "  Praise  of  Folly"  to  More  :— "  Superior ibus  dicbus  cum  me  ex  Itali<%  in 
Angliain  recipcrum  ne  toiurn  id  iempus  quo  equofuit  inseden  dum  illiteratis 
fabulis  terej-etur,  statui  vel  aliquid  de  communibus  nostris  studiis  agiture 
vel  amicoruju  recoredatione  frui  inter  quos  tu  mi  More  vel  in  primis  occtir- 
rcbas,  &c.  &-c.  He  then  proceeds  to  demonstrate  the  fitness  of  things  in  the 
selection  of  Mcupos  as  the  patron  of  his  undertaking,  perpetrating  that  lowest 
species  of  witticism  called  a  pun,  but  by  no  means  authorizing  the  author  of 
the  "  Fudge  Family"  to  make  use  of  the  joke  in  after  times,  as  if  it  had  been 
with  him  an  original  discovery.  'Tis  "  too  bad  "  that  we  cannot  go  a  step  in  the 
domain  of  literature  without  alighting  on  some  of  the  innumerable  rogueries  of 
Tommy. 

To  those  who  are  not  intimately  conversant  with  the  graces  of  Latin  phrase- 
ology, it  would  be  hopeless  to  attempt  an  exposition  of  what  constitutes  the 
excellence  of  this  elaborate  trifle ;  its  perpetual  allusion  to  classic  passages, 
its  terse  and  lively  diction,  its  sparkling  elegance,  and  perfect  purity  of  style, 
are  lost  to  the  "country  gentleman,"  and  to  members  of  the  "London 
University."  But  it  evinces  at  the  same  time  a  knowledge  of  the  world,  and 
gives  an  insight  into  the  social  system  during  the  days  of  Erasmus,  which  must 
appear  extraordinary,  as  the  production  of  a  man  supposed  to  have  vegetated 
all  his  life  amid  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  black-letter  acquirement.  With  the 
keen  penetration  and  withering  irony  of  Swift,  it  unites  the  smooth  facility  and 
harmonious  elegance  of  Addison  — a  playful  and  discursive  fancy,  an  inex- 
haustible power  of  illustration,  a  tone  of  delicate  persiflage,  of  which  antiquity 
had  supplied  no  model,  and  in  which  he  has  not  been  surpassed  by^ny  writer 
of  modern  times. 

If  there  be  a  department  of  literary  excellence  in  w^hich  we  have  fairly  out- 
shone "the  ancients,"  it  is  in  this  species  of  composition.  The  extreme 
simplicity  of  classic  wit,  and  the  quiet  jocularity  of  Greek  and  Roman  bon  mots, 
do  not  come  up  to  the  standard  of  modern  fastidiousness.  Their  "epigrams  " 
are  proverbially  obtuse;  and  to  excite  laughter  in  former  days,  it  apparently 
required  but  little  expenditure  of  fancy.  Phasdrus  gravely  tells  us  that  his 
"Fables"  were  intended  to  provoke  the  risible  faculties  of  contemporary 
readers. 

''  Duplex  libelii  desert  quod  risum  movet,"  &c.  &c.,  and  Cicero,  an  eminent 


202 


The    Works  of  Father  Front. 


punster  and  humorist  in  his  day  informs  us  that  a  Romari  joke  was  vastly 
superior  to  a  Greek  one, — Rotnaui  sales  salsiores  sunt  quam  illi  Atticorum. 
However,  as  a  set-off  against  the  orator's  opinion,  we  have  the  testimony  of 
Caesar  in  favour  of  the  comic  talent  of  the  Athenians,  in  those  celebrated  hnes 
in  which  he  styles  Terence  a  dimidiatus  Mcnander,  and  wishes  him  to  attain 
the  piquancv  of  his  prototype,  Utinam  adjuncta  foret  vis  co?nica,  &c.  &c. 
Still  I  rather  suspect  that  when  Angelo  Mai  is  fortunate  enough  to  discover  this 
long-lost  budget  of  fun  comprised  in  the  writings  of  Menander,  the  laughing 
public  will  be  sadly  disappointed.  Lucian  and  Aristophanes  are  but  sorry  dogs 
compared  with  Cervantes,  Moliere,  Fielding,  or  Rabelais ;  and  the  Jesuit 
Vavasseur  has  written  an  express  treatise,  "  De  Sermone  Ludicre,"  to  prove  the 
distaste  of  the  ancients  for  this  favounte  modern  accomplishment. 

Erasmus  was  the  first  to  set  the  example  and  to  show  the  efficacy  of  well- 
directed  ridicule.  He  was  not  only  witty  himself,  but  could  appreciate  the  wit 
of  others;  for  the  perusal  of  the  "  Epistole  Obscurorum  Virorum,"  from  the 
pen  of  his  friend  BuUenger,  published  shortly  after,  so  affected  him,  that  in  the 
paroxysms  of  laughter,  an  aposthume  of  the  face,  under  which  he  laboured  at 
the  time,  and  which  the  usual  remedies  had  failed  to  cure,  burst  from  the 
exertion,  and  immediate  relief  was  the  result. 

Having  had  occasion  to  make  a  cursory  mention  of  Rabelais,  and  as  that 
celebrated  pundit  flourished  in  those  days  at  the  court  of  Francis  I.,  it  might 
not  be  amiss,  after  the  manner  of  the  Boeotian  Plutarch,  to  institute  a  parallel 
between  the  curate  of  Meudon  and  the  sage  of  Rotterdam.  But,  on  second 
thoughts,  I  fear  it  would  be  derogatory  to  the  elegant  scholarship  and  truly 
sacerdotal  accomplishments  of  the  one,  to  place  him  in  any  sort  of  contact  or 
contrast  with  the  gross  buffoonery  of  the  other.  The  chronicler  of  Gargantua 
possessed,  doubtless,  a  very  extensive,  though  perplexed  and  ill-assorted  stock 
of  learning,  and  this  unworthy  member  of  the  Franciscan  order  was  endowed 
with  a  keen  perception  of  the  vices  and  follies  of  his  age  ;  but  he  appears  net 
to  respect  himself,  and  his  reader  can  have  no  personal  esteem  for  an  author  of 
his-  description.  So  much  profane  and  ribald  merriment,  which  would  be 
scandalous  in  a  lajTnan,  becomes  insufferable  in  an  ecclesiastic  ;  and  though 
occasionally  some  amusement  may  be  found  amid  the  effusions  of  his  exuberant 
imagination,  and  the  audacious  oddity  of  his  conceits,  disgust  and  loathing 
quickly  supervene  at  the  constant  obtrusion  of  cynicism  and  indecency. 

Erasmus,  once  more  in  England,  applied  himself  with  renewed  energy  to 
the  great  purpose  of  his  life,  and  powerfully  contributed  to  the  diffusion  of 
classic  taste  among  our  countrymen.  With  enthusiasm,  we  find  him  recording 
the  result  of  his  labours  "  apud  Anglos  triumphant  bonac  litcra  recta  studia  " 
(lib.  xvi.  cap.  19. )  And  he  is  loud  in  his  praise  of  those  eminent  men  whom  he 
had  the  good  fortune  to  count  among  his  associates  and  patrons.  Besides 
More,  we  find  mention  made  of  Linaker  (the  King's  physician),  Wareham, 
Cuthbert  Tunstall,  Groscyn,  Lilly,  Latimer,  Colet,  Bullock  (whom  he  calls 
Bovillus),  and  Fisher  (who' figures  as  Piscator),  all  good  men  and  true. 

•  "  Animas  neque  candidiores 

Terra  tulit." 

Linked  in  close  intimacy,  those  illustrious  friends  found  in  the  pursuits  of 
Greek  and  Roman  literature  an  inexhaustible  source  of  generous  emotion,  and 
it  was  a  sad  change  that  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  their  classic  dreams  when  the 
din  of  controversy  arose,  startling  the  muse  from  her  classic  haunts,  and  inter- 
rupting the  pleasures  of  refined  companionship,  to  superinduce  the  odium  ihco- 
logicnm,  and  Xhe  plus  quam  civillia  delta. 

The  professorship  of  Divinity  and  Greek  at  Cambridge  did  not  prevent  him 
from  enjoying  occasionally  the  society  of  his  acquaintances  in  London,  where 


he  possessed  apartmenls  in  the  convent  of  Austinfriars,  Broad  Street.  His 
visits  to  More,  who  had  a  residence  at  Chelsea,  were  fond  and  frequent ;  and 
we  subsequently  find  him  invested  by  Vv'areham  with  the  rectory  of  Aldingham, 
in  Kent ;  but  his  mind  was  not  adapted  to  the  routine  of  parochial  functions  '; 
and  we  do  not  learn  that  he  ever  entered  on  the  duties  or  responsibihty  of  the 
parish,  which  he  soon  resigned  into  the  hands  of  the  archbishop. 

The  motives  which  eventually  led  him  to  quit  England— a  country  for  which 
he  expressed,  through  hfe,  the  most  enthusiastic  affection— have  not  been  suffi- 
ciently explained  ;  but  it  seemed  that  he  augured  nothing  good  from  the  con- 
tinued ascendency  of  Wolsey  over  the  King  s  mind.  The  year  1513  m.arked 
his  departure  for  the  Continent,  and  we  do  not  find  that'he  ever  afterwards 
revisited  these  islands. 

Still  one  event,  celebrated  by  the  historians  of  the  day,  and  which  attracted 
to  the  scene  of  its  occurrence  a  sort  of  European  attention,  gave  him  an 
opportunity  of  mingling  once  more  with  his  old  associates,  and  renewing  the 
bonds  of  cherished  intimacy.  I  allude  to  the  remarkable  exhibition  of  feudal 
pomp  and  pageantr>'  which  took  place  on  the  French  coast,  between  Calais  and 
Boulogne  in  1520,  and  which  gained  for  an  obscure  plain  in  the  neighbour- 
hood the  proud  tide  of  the  "  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold,"  Thither Tflocked 
the  illustrious  personages  of  every  land— the  French  and  Henry  vied  with 
each  other,  not  merely  in  the  display  of  gorgeous  equipages,  but  in  the  rank  and 
celebrity  of  their  followers  and  courtiers.  More,  Einaker,  Wolsey,  Fisher,  and. 
Erasmus  formed  the  literary  strength  of  the  English  camp  ;  Bude,'  Rabelais,  St. 
Gelais,  and  Clement  Marot  kept  the  table  of  the  French  monarch  in  a  roar. 
It  must  have  been,  in  truth,  an  interesting  congress,  and  as  brilliant  in  its  intel- 
lectual character  as  in  the  materiel  of  its  outward  scenery.  The  chivalry  of 
England  had  oft  before  met  their  rivals  in  mortal  conflict  i  but  though  Henry 
still  wore  the  keys  of  France  suspended  to  his  girdle,  it  was  in  no  hostile 
mood  that  the  descendants  of  Talbot  encountered  the  representatives  of 
Duguesclin.  Our  Percies,  Stanleys,  and  Howards,  received  the  friendly  grasp 
of  Bayard,  Lapalisse,  and  Chabannes ;  and  the  unfortunate  Countess  de  Cha- 
teaubriand met  there  the  no  less  ill-fated  Anne  de  Boleyn.  While  their  eyes 
"rained  influence"  over  this  fairyland,  little  thought  either,  I  ween,  of  the 
shadows  of  coming  adversity,  but  moved  gaily  amid  the  admiring  throng,  or 
listened  to  the  muse  of  Clement  Marot,  in  whose  writings  we  find  an  appro- 
priate chant,  beginning  thus  : — 

June   1520.     AU   CAMP   D'ARDRES   ET   GUIGNES. 

"  Au  camp  des  roys,  les  plus  haulx  de  ce  monde, 

Sont  arrives  trois  riches  estandards  ; 
Amour  tiente  Tun  de  coleur  blanche  et  muiide, 

Triumphe  I'autre  aveque  ses  souldards. 
Vivement  peinct  de  couleur  celestine. 
Beaute  apres,  en  sa  main  noble  et  digne, 
Porte  le  tiers  tainct  de  vermeille  sorte  ; 

Ainsi  chascun  richement  se  comporte, 
Et  en  tel  ordre  et  pompe  primeraine, 

Sont  venus  veoir  la  royale  cohorte, 
Amour,  Triumphe,  et  Beaute  souveraine,"  &:c.,  &.c. 

HENRY  VIII.    AND   FRANCIS    AT  GUIGNES,   June    152a 

Where  o'er  the  mead  yon  camp  is  spread  with  purple  and  vermilion. 
Two  Kings  hold  court  of  merry  sort,  each  in  his  bright  pavilion  ; 
In  silken  tent  for  the  tournament  their  gallant  knighcs  prepare. 
And  ladies'  eyes  will  judge  the  prize  of  manly  valour  there. 


284  The  Works  of  Father  Pront. 

Three  standards  float  while  trumpet  note  proclaims  the  gay  programme, 

But  what  may  be  the  mystery  of  that  triple  oriflamme? 

Valol'r  combined  with  Love  refined,  and  peerless  BEAfTV,  hold 

United  sway  in  the  camp  to-day  on  the  "  field  of  the  cloth  of  gold,"  &c.,  &c. 

Such  a  camp  was  of  too  pacific  a  character  not  to  suit  in  every  respect  the 
genius  of  Erasmus  ;  but  a  protracted  war  between  his  patron,  the  newly- 
elected  emperor,  Charles,  and  the  French  King,  interrupted  the  amicable 
relations  which  he  had  hoped  to  enjoy  with  the  learned  who  composed  the 
court  of  Francis.  Of  these,  Clement  Marot  was  perhaps  the  individual  whose 
suavity  of  disposition  and  ingenuous  nature  would  have  most  attracted  his 
notice  and  sympathy  ;  and  I  dwell  on  this  point  because  in  studying  the  career 
of  the  father  of  French  poetrj',  I  find  him  driven  into  the  arms  of  the 
Huguenots  by  the  intolerant  proceedings  of  the  Sorbonne ;  and  thus  was  the 
weight  of  the  poet's  popularity  among  all  classes  of  his  song-loving  country- 
men thrown  into  the  scale  of  Calvinism.  It  is  well  known  that  his  metrical 
version  of  the  psalms,  far  superior  in  their  idiom  to  the  vulgar  rhapsodies  of 
Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  took  a  powerful  hold  on  the  lower  orders  of  the 
French,  and  became  mainly  instrumental  in  promoting  sectarian  views.  Marot 
exhibits  in  his  poems  a  wondrous  energy  of  expression,  and  a  singular  com- 
mand of  language  for  the  period  in  which  he  lived.  In  some  papers  of  mine 
on  the  songs  Of  modern  France,  I  have  borne  testimony  to  his  distinguished 
merits,  but  as  a  specimen  of  contemporary  French  poetry  in  the  days  of 
Erasmus  I  here  insert  an  ode  which  the  songster  of  the  "  camp  de  drap  d'or" 
composed  in  the  following  year  on  a  more  v.arlike  occasion  ;  in  fact,  it  seems 
to  have  been  the  model  of  the  "  Marseillaise  Hymn,"  and  must  have  been  very 
popular  among  the  soldiers  of  Francis. 

AU  DUC  D'ALENCON  COMMANDANT  DE  L'AVANT  GARDE 
DE    L'ARMEE    FRANQAISE,    1521. 

D\  vers  Hainault,  sur  les  fins  de  champagne. 

Est  arrive  le  bon  Due  d'Alen<?on, 
Aveque  honneur  qui  toujours  I'accompagne 

Com  me  le  sien  propre  et  vrai  ecusson  : 
La  pent  on  veoir  sur  la  grande  plaine  unie 
De  bons  soudars  son  enseigne  munie, 
Pres  d'employer  leurs  bras  fulminatoire, 
A  repousser  dedans  leurs  territoire 

L'ours  Hanvier,  gent,  rustique,  et  brutalle, 
Voulant  marcher  sans  raison  peremptoire 

Sur  les  climats  de  France  occidentale. 

Prenez  hault  coeur,  donques,  France  et  Bretagne  ! 

Car  si  en  ce  camp  tenez  fiere  fa9on, 
Foudre  verrez  devant  vous  I'Allemagne, 

Comme  au  soleil  blanche  neige  et  gia^on  : 
Fiffres  !  tambours  !  sonnez  en  harmonic  ; 
Aventuriers  !  que  la  pique  on  manie 
Pour  les  choquer  et  mettre  en  accessoire. 
Car  deja  sont  au  royal  possessoire  : 

Mais  comme  je  crois  destinee  fatalle 
Voult  miner  leur  outrageuse  gloire 

Sur  les  climats  de  France  occidentale. 

Donques  pietons  marchans  sur  la  campagne, 

Foudroyez  tout  sans  rien  prendre  a  ranfon  ; 
Preux  chevaliers,  puisqu'honneur  on  y  gagne, 

Vos  ennemies  poussez  hors  de  I'argon, 


The  Days  cf  Erasmus.  285 


Fakes  rougir  du  sang  de  Germanie 
Les  clairs  ruisseaux  dont  la  terre  est  gamie  ; 
,  Si  seront  mis  vos  hauts  noms  en  histoire  : 

Frappez  done  tous  de  main  gladiatoire, 
Qu'apres  leur  mort  et  deffaicte  totalle 
Vous  rapportiez  la  palme  de  victoire 
Sur  les  climats  de  France  occidentale. 

France  !  rempli  de  haut  los  meritoire, 
Faisons  les  tous,  si  vous  me  voules  croire, 

AUer  humer  leur  cervaise  et  godalle  ; 
Car  de  nos  vins  ont  grand  desir  de  boire 

Sur  les  climats  de  France  occidentale.  f 

ADDRESS  TO  THE  VANGUARD    OF  THE  FRENCH  UNDER 
THE   DUG    D'ALENCON,    1521. 

CLEMENT   MAROT. 

Soldiers  !  at  length  their  gather'd  strength  our  might  is  doom'd  to  feel- 
Spain  and  Brabant  comilitant — Bavaria  and  Castile. 
Idiots,  they  think  that  France  will  shrink  from  a  foe  that  rushes  on. 
And  terror  damp  the  gallant  camp  of  the  bold  Due  d'Alen?on  1 
But  wail  and  woe  betide  the  foe  that  waits  for  our  assault  ! 
And  to  his  lair  our  pikes  shall  scare  the  wild  boar  of  Hainault. 
La  :Meuse  shall  flood  her  banks  with  blood,  ere  the  sons  of  France  resign 
These  glorious  fields— the  land  that  yields  the  olive  and  the  vme  ! 

Then  draw  the  blade  !  be  our  ranks  array 'd  to  the  sound  of  the  martial  fife, 

In  the  foeman's  ear  let  the  trumpets  blow  a  blast  of  deadly  strife  ; 

And  let  each  knight  collect  his  might,  as  if  there  hung  this  day 

The  fate  of  France  on  his  single  lance  in  the  hour  of  the  coming  fray  : 

As  melts  the  snow  in  summer's  glow,  so  may  our  helmets'  glare 

Consume  their  host  ;  so  folly's  boast  vanish  in  empty  air. 

Fools  !  to  believe  the  sword  could  give  to  the  children  of  the  Rhme 

Our  Gallic  fields— the  land  that  yields  the  olive  and  the  vine  : 

Can  Germans  face  our  Norman  race  in  the  conflict's  awful  shock— ^ 
Brave  the  war-cry  of  "  Britt.\ny  !  "  the  shout  of  "  Lakguedoc  I 
Dare  they  confront  the  battle's  brunt— the  fell  encounter  try 
When  dread  Bayard  leads  on  his  guard  of  stout  gendarmerie  ?  _ 
Strength  be  the  test— from  breast  to  breast,  ay,  grapple  man  with  man  ; 
Strength  in  the  ranks,  strength  on  both  flanks,  and  v.dour  in  the  van. 
Let  war  efface  each  softer  grace  ;  on  stern  Bellona's  shrine 
We  vow  to  shield  the  plains  that  yield  the  olive  and  the  vine  ! 

Methinks  I  see  bright  Victor>%  in  robe  of  glory  drest, 

Joyful  appear  on  the  French  frontier  to  the  chieftain  she  loves  best ; 

While  grim  Defeat,  in  contrast  meet,  scowls  o'er  the  foeman's  tent, 

She  on  our  duke  smiles  down  with  look  of  blythe  encouragement. 

E'en  now,  I  ween,  our  foes  have  seen  their  hopes  of  conquest  fail  ; 

Glad  to  regain  their  homes  again,  and  quaff  their  Saxon  ale. 

So  may  it  be  while  chivalrj'  and  loyal  hearts  combine, 

A  sword  to  wield  for  the  plains  that  yield  the  olive  and  the  vine  ! 

Though  Erasmus,  in  his  new  capacity  of  aulic  councillor  to  Charles  V., 
attended  the  diet  of  Worms  in  1521,  we  do  not  find  that  he  took  any  promment 
part  in  the  intrigues  of  Germanic  diplomacy.  In  fact ,  he  was  then  engaged  on 
the  most  popular  of  his  works,  the  "  Colloquia,"  which  appeared  at  Pans  the 
following  year,  and  of  which  twenty  thousand  copies  were  in  a  few  weeks 
bought  up,  a  rumour  having  been  set  afloat  that  the  Sorbonne  would  prohibit 
its  circulation.  Of  this  work,  the  effect  in  forming  the  mind  of  Europe  and 
influencing  the  opinions  of  the  generation  that  succeeded,  has  not,  that  I  know 
of,  ever  been  inquired  into  sufficiently ;  but  when  it  is  considered  that  those 


286  The    Works  of  Father  Front. 

dialogues,  ostensibly  intended  as  "school  exercises,"  and  couched  in  familiar 
yet  elegant  phraseolog>',  take  the  full  range  of  contemporary  topics  and  breathe 
the  opinions  of  the  writer  on  most  of  the  current  subjects  of  discussion,  it  may 
be  readily  understood  how  powerful  an  impression  their  adoption  in  every 
European  academy,  as  a  class  book,  and  their  perusal  by  the  students  of  every 
land,  produced  in  the  days  of  Erasmus.  The  newspaper  press  is  doubtless, 
in  our  own  time,  a  vast  engine  for  the  diffusion  of  any  given  theory,  and 
the  popular  songs  of  a  country,  could  they  be  wielded  by  any  single 
individual,  or  made  subser\'ient  to  the  promotion  of  any  special  object, 
would  prove  a  mighty  instrument  of  moral  and  political  influence  ;  but  in  the 
case  of  the  author  who  penned  those  "  Colloquies,"  and  imbued  them  with  his 
spirit,  it  might  be  emphatically  said  that  the  power  of  the  schoolmaster 
was  ABROAD  in  1522.  The  strictures  with  which  certain  abuses  and  follies 
originating  with  the  mendicant  friars  are  visited  and  exposed,  in  order  that  no 
argument  might  thence  be  gathered  to  assail  the  substance  of  our  faith,  are  far 
from  being  the  least  valuable  portion  of  the  text;  and  that  Erasmus  looked  on 
these  blind  zealots  as  the  grand  obslacle  to  a  speedy  termination  to  the  troubles 
of  the  Church,  is  evident  from  the  following  passage  in  one  of  his  letters  : — 
"  In  dies  viitescit  febris  Lutherana  adeo  ut  ipse  Lutherus  de  singulis  prope- 
modu77i  scribit palinodiam,  sed  vereorne  quorumdum  7nonac/ionif?i  stolida  i?n- 
probitas  excitet  fiobis  alixm  tragcediam." — Ep.  63,  lib.  xx. 

That  we  are  indebted  to  the  paltry  squabble  of  these  mendicants,  about  the 
sale  of  "indulgences,"  for  the  outbreak  of  what  is  called  the  Reformation,  is 
but  too  true  ;  and  that  Erasmus,  in  seeking  to  throw  the  rubbish  overboard  and 
so  ease  the  bark  of  Peter  for  the  coming  storm,  acted  the  part  of  a  sensible  and 
conscientious  Cathohc,  no  one  at  this  time  of  day  can  doubt ;  nay,  that  such 
was  the  opinion  of  Paul  III.  will  appear  to  any  one  who  reads  his  brief,  bear- 
ing date  August  i,  1535,  addressed  to  the  enlightened  priest  a  year  before  his 
death.  In  it  the  pope  sets  forth  that  his  piety,  superior  acquirements,  and 
services  rendered  the  Roman  see,  have  induced  the  father  of  the  faithful  to  con- 
fer on  him  the  prebend  of  Deventer,  in  the  diocese  of  Utrecht,  of  the  value  of 
six  hundred  florins  ;  intending  this  favour  as  the  prelude  of  higher  dignities, 

Francis  I.  so  admired  the  "  Colloquies, "'  that  he  issued  orders  to  the  Sorbonne 
to  desist  from  interfering  with  their  circulation  ;  but  certain  folks,  who  felt  more 
particularly  annoyed  at  the  graphic  touches  of  this  master  hand,  were  not  so 
quiescent  under  the  lash.  One  Louis  Campestor  adopted  a  new  method  of  re- 
futing an  antagonist ;  hepubhsheda  castrated  edition  of  the  book  interspersed 
with  xl/tvoo  colloquies,  and  adorned  with  a  preface  of  his  own  ;  in  which, 
assuming  the  name  of  Erasmus,  he  condemns  as  spurious  the  copies  generally 
in  use;  an  miposture  of  which  the  indignant  author  loudly  complains  {Epist. 
32,  lib.  xxi.)  :  "  LuicticB  Dominicanus  quidam  corrupit  mea  colloquia,  et 
addidit  prefatiomim  meo  nomine  in  quo  damno  vieipsum."  But  he  subse- 
quently laughed  at  the  pia  fraus,  ingeniously  observing,  that  his  foes  must 
have  taken  the  hint  of  this  summary  proceeding  from  the  practice  of  the  tyrant 
Alezentius  in  the  ".Eneid,"  and  by  placing  his  "Colloquies"  in  conjunction 
with  those  of  Campestor,  seemed  resolved  to  revive  that  tormcnti  genus  of 
which  Virgil  singeth  (lib.  ix.). 

Ihe  controversy  between  him  and  Luther  on  the  obscure  matter  of  "free 
will  "  possesses  no  interest ;  the  subject  could  not  have  been  more  unhappily 
selected— they  fought  in  a  mist  and  wrestled  in  a  swamp.  Many  have 
attributed  the  pamphlet  of  Henry  VIII.  to  the  pen  of  Erasmus  ;  but  though 
the  royal  author  seems  to  have  copied  the  style  of  his  distinguished  friend,  we 
have  a  positive  disclaimer  from  the  latter  of  having  had  any  part  in  winning 
for  the  Kings  of  England  the  title  of  Defender  of  the  Faith.  He  was  also  sup- 
posed by  his  contemporariesto  have  written  More's  "Utopia."  There  is  certainly 
a  singular  coincidence  of  opinions  and  taste  between  the  writings  of  the  chan- 


cellor  and  those  of  the  priest ;  but  the  "Tom  Moore"  of  those  days  was  a 
writer  of  undoubted  originaUty,  incapable  of  pubUshing  as  his  own  the 
opinions  of  another.  I  could  have  wished  to  give  Melancthon,  the  friend  and 
admirer  of  Erasmus,  a  place  in  this  paper  worthy  of  that  accomplished  and 
delightful  character;  but  my  allotted  limits  prelude  the  indulgence  of  my  wishes 
in  this  respect.  Neither  can  I  afford  to  notice  the  career  and  genius  of  Hans 
Holbein,  of  whom  our  scholar  was  the  first  patron,  and  whose  earliest  efforts 
were  woodcuts  to  adorn  the  "  Praise  of  Folly." 

Erasnms  took  up  his  abode  for  the  remaining  years  of  his  life  in  the  tov.n  of 
Bale,  where  he  had  found  an  intelligent  printer  in  the  person  of  Jerome  Frebon  : 
there,  with  a  press  at  his  command,  he  pursued  to  the  last  his  career  of 
utility, — 

"  Hie  illius  arma 
Hie  currus  fuit." 

The  edition  of  St.  Jerome  occupied  ten  years,  and  is  a  noble  monument :  Basil, 
Athanasius,  and  Chrysostom,  Isocrates,  Plutarch,  Lucian,  and  Demosthenes, 
alternately  issued  from  his  hands.  Nor  was  he  sparing  of  original  composition 
on  various  themes— philology,  criticism,  pulpit  eloquence,  Greek  pronunciation 
(for  it  was  he  who  established  the  received  mode,  known  m  our  universities  as 
the  "  Erasmian  "),  leaving  scarcely  a  topic  in  the  wide  range  of  hterature  un- 
touched and  unadorned. 

There  are  few  examples  among  "  les  gc?is  de  lettres  "  of  brilliant  talent  com- 
bined with  such  untiring  industry,  and  devoting  its  energies  in  silent  and  un- 
ostentatious toil  to  the  editorial  'drudgery  of  so  many  years.  Erasmus  set  a 
noble  example.  It  was  a  favourite  joke  of  the  martyred  chancellor  on  his 
friend's  name,  that  it  conveyed  the  notion  of  his  having  been  formerly,  in  the 
Pythagorean  theory  of  pre-existence  and  transmigration,  a  very  inferior  animal  — 
E'ras-mus.  The  idea  might  be  easily  worked  up  into  an  illustration  of  the  old 
fable  concerning  a  lion,  who,  when  enclosed  in  a  hunter's  net,  was  set  free  by 
the  indefatigable  teeth  of  a  field-mouse,  as  related  by  my  esteemed  friend 
Phasdrus,  sound  learning  and  classic  taste  being  typified  by  the  "lion,"  who, 
liberated  from  the  meshes  of  scholastic  entanglement,  was  enabled  thus  to  walk 
the  earth  and  roam  abroad  through  every  European  land.  To  speak  in 
IMiltonic  strain  : 

"  The  grassy  clods  now  calved  ;  now  half  appeared 
The  tawny  lion,  pavving  to  get  free 
His  hinder  pans  :  then  springs,  as  broke  from  bonds, 
And  rampant  shakes  his  brindled  mane." 

B.  vii.  V.  465. 

Worn  out  in  the  cause,  and  spent  with  fatigue,  this  eminent  scholar  expired  on 
the  i2th  of  July,  1536,  in  the  sentiments  of  sincere  piety  which  have  animated 
his  whole  life.  The  last  letter  we  have  from  his  pen  is  dated  but  a  fortnight 
previous,  and  expresses  his  firm  perseverance  in  the  rehgious  convictions  he 
had  always  professed.  It  is  also  interesting  from  the  peculiarity  of  the  signa- 
ture, "  Desiderius  Erasmus  Rot.  acg7-a  manu."  Three  days  after  his  death, 
Charles  V.  and  his  army  entered  Bi\le  ;  the  body  was  solemnly  disinterred,  and 
again  recommitted  to  the  earth  with  extraordinary  pomp.  By  none  w-as  he 
more  sincerely  regretted  than  by  that  emperor ;  but  regret  was  universal  among 
all  the  friends  of  piety,  meekness,  genius,  liberality,  and  elegant  scholarship. 

"  Fatalis  series  nobis  invidit  Erasmus 
Sed  Desiderium  tollere  non  potuit." 


2SS  The   Works  of  Father  Front, 


XV. 

^xii^x  Pugo's  l^nrrcal  ^^o^trg. 

{Frascrs  Magazirie,  July,  1835.) 


[Immediately  between  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  of  the  Prout  Papers— that  is,  the  one 
en  Erasmus  in  the  May  number  and  the  one  on  Vida's  "  Poem  of  the  Silkworm,"  in  the' 
August  number  o{  Eraser  for  1835 — there  appeared  three  choice  specimens  of  the  incom- 
parable KtIcs  of  Victor  Hugo,  "  La  Grandmere,"  "  Le  Voile,"  and  "  Le  Repas,"  "  upset" 
into  English  by  Mahony.  Prefixed  to  them,  with  an  unmistakable  Proutean  flavour 
about  it,  was  a  discursive  criticism  on  the  poet's  recently-published  historical  romance — 
"  Notre  Dame  de  Paris,"  transformed  by  the  English  translator  of  it  into  the  ''  Hunch- 
back of  Notre  Dame,  the  Deformed  Bell-ringer  Quasimodo."_  Croquis'  portrait  in  the 
number  of  Regina  containing  this  double-barrelled  discharge  in  honour  of  Victor  Hugo 
depicted  Lord  Francis  Egerton,  the  translator  of  "  Faust,"  brother  of  a  duke,  and  posses- 
sor of  a  small'  competence  of  ;^oo,ooo  a  year,  delicately  sealing  a  billet-doux .\ 


4'o\/cos  EJji;  yui\o%  t'  i-rtpov  Trooa'  Tto  oe  ol  wfiuj 
KupTw,  Itti  (TTJ/tios  CT\wo)(^u)KnTe'  avTap  innpde 

Iliad,  b'  2ik- 

Lame  of  one  foot,  this  elf,  of  stature  brief, 
With  head  shaped  like  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe, 
Was  bald  and  squinted  :  all  which  to  enhance, 
Rose  on  his  back  a  proud  protuberance. 

In  the  venerable  chest  of  "  Prout  Papers,"  which  is  still  in  our  safe  keeping — 
albeit,  acting  on  the  plan  of  the  Cumsean  sibyl,  we  have  latterly  withheld  its 
treasures  from  a  giddy  generation  that  did  not  seem  sufficiently  to  appreciate 
their  value — there  is  a  voluminous  essay,  indeed  a  regular  historical  work,  to 
which  the  learned  divine,  with  that  fondness  for  alliteration  which  he  so  fre- 
quently manifests,  has  affixed  the  title  of  ''Gesta  Gibborum  ;  or.  The  History 
of  Hunchbacks."  He  appears,  from  some  cause  or  other,  to  have  been  ambi- 
tious of  figuring  as  the  chronicler  of  that  very  neglected  but  highly  intelligent  class 
of  individuals  (who  have  not  hitherto  had  their  Plutarch);  and,  in  the  execti- 
tion  of  this  laudable  undertaking,  he  has  left  a  proud  memorial  of  his  industrious 
philanthropy.  Such,  however,  is  the  distaste  for  rational  and  ekiborate  com- 
positions of  this  nature,  and  such  the  predilection  of  the  reading  public  for 
light  and  unsubstantial  literature,  that  this  grave  historical  performance  would 
not  probably  at  the  present  moment  attract  a  whit  more  notice  than  the  still- 
born chcfs-aauvre  of  the  same  kind  that  are  monthly  brought  forth  by  the 
• '  Cabinet  Cyclopoedia  ;  "  amd  which  are  duly  buried,  after  having  been  properly 


Victor  Hugo's  Lyrical  Poetry.  289 

christened  by  the  Rev.  Dionysius  Lardner.  We  have  no  wish  to  send  Prout's 
work  to  "Limbo  "  in  that  fashion,  although  the  Doctor  has  appHed  to  us  for 
it,  promising  that,  like  the  rest  of  the  series,  it  would  be,  in  the  language  of 
his  advertisement,  "  translated  into  all  the  continental  languages."  France  and 
Europe,  he  tells  us,  will  be  enraptured  with  the  very  announcement  of  "  La 
Biographie  des  Bossus,"  forming  ihe  69th  volume  of  the  Lardnerian  "  Sigh- 
dopagia."  We  have  no  doubt  it  would  help  to  get  off  a  copy  or  two  of  his 
unsaleable  collection,  but  we  have  declined  the  proposal. 

We  needed  not,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  the  testimony  of  Homer,  as  quoted  above, 
to  establish,  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  Royal  Antiquarian  Society,  the  remote 
antiquity  of  that  singular  configuration  of  the  dorsal  spine  in  the  human  sub- 
ject;  the  simple  proverbial  comparison  ''  as  old  as  the  hills"  being  quite  con- 
clusive on  the  point  to  the  mind  of  any  reflecting  F.  R.A.S.  \\'e  only  regret 
that  the  father  of  poetry  has  thought  proper  to  confer  so  honourable  a  distinc- 
tion on  so  unworthy  a  character  as  Thersiles.  In  truth,  the  blind  bard  of 
Maeonia  seems  to  have  felt  that  he  had  made  3.  fajix pas  in  this  matter;  and  we 
may  remark,  that  he  never  again  mentions,  in  the  whole  course  of  the  "  Iliad," 
the  personage  who  figures  in  our  quotation,  as  if  conscious  of  having  blundered 
in  depicturing  such  a  scoundrel  possessed  of  this  badge  of  emmence.  .^sop 
nobly  redeemed  the  feature ;  and,  in  truth,  from  that  ingenious  fabulist  to 
the  incomparable  Scarron— from  the  husband  of  "Madame  de  Maintenon  to  the 
profound  and  philosophic  Godwin,  the  bump  of  genius  seemeth  to  have  been 
the  rightful  inheritance  of  hunchbacks.  Richard  III.  and  the  great  Frederic 
of  Prussia  owed  not  a  httle  of  their  energetic  disposition  to  this  peculiarity  of 
structure;  and  as  to  its  evincing  in  its  owner  a  thirst  for  inquiry  and  investiga- 
tion, there  was  more  philosophy  than  meets  the  eye  in  the  discovery  of  some 
wit  of  Queen  Anne's  day,  who  compared  the  figure  of  Pope  to  a  note  of  inter- 
rogation. These  crooked  specimens  of  humanity  seem  to  have  been  marked  as 
it  were,  by  the  hand  of  nature  in  italics,  lest  they  might  be  confounded  with 
the  rest  of  men,  and  passed  over  without  due  attention  to  their  recondite  signi- 
ficance :  the  hump  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  acute  accent  placed  upon  them,  not 
without  a  sly  meaning  of  its  own.  We  might  here  refer  to  the  ' '  Cours  de  Belles 
Lettres"  of  Abbe  "  Bossu,"  but  we  do  not  wish  to  accumulate  instances  of 
eminent  men  similarly  distinguished ;  in  sooth,  to  heap  up  all  the  examples 
were  an  useless  attempt — imponere  Pelio  Ossam. 

A  French  writer  of  considerable  ingenuity  has,  in  our  opinion,  made  a  sad    ; 
mistake  when  he  wrote   the   following  epigram  against  the  poet   Desorgues  : 
it  was  no  doubt  intended  as  a  sarcasm,  but  had  he  given  himself  the  trouble 
of  considering  the  thing  soberly,   he  would   have  seen  that  he  had  paid  his    ., 
enemy  the  most  dehcate  compUment  imaginable  : 

"  Quand  Polichinel  Desorgue,  \ 

Ce  petit  bossu  rhodomont,  :< 

Sur  la  montagne  a  double  front  \ 

A  voulu  grimper  avec  morgue. 

On  croirait  que  le  double  mont. 
Pour  se  venger  de  cet  affront, 

Lui-meMe  a  grimpe  sl'R  Desorgue  !" 

Desorgues  might  have  answered  his  less  favoured  antagonist,  by  quoting 
the  well-\nown  sonnet  of  Cardinal  Bembo,  which,  though  originally  addressed 
to  one  of  the  Apennines,  would  be  far  more  appropriately  applied  to  the  pro- 
montory in  question  : 

"  Re  degli  altri  sacro  superbo  monte 
Tu  sarai  il  mio  Pamaso,"  &c.,  &c. 

We  could  readily  enlarge  on  this  curious  topic,  and  swell  it  out,  but  that 

M  * 


we  do  not  \vish  to  anticipate  on  Prout's  historico-philosophical  work,  which  will 
be  published  in  due  season ;  nor  will  our  readers  accuse  us  of  travelling  out  of 
the  record,  in  ushering  in  the  "  Hunchback"  of  \'ictor  Hugo  with  a  few  words 
on  dwarfs  in  general  :  such  practice  being  established  as  the  oldest  and  most 
received  method  of  reviewing  an  author's  work,  which  is  generally  considered 
only  as  a  peg  whereon  to  hang  up  the  critic's  wig  of  miscellaneous  learning. 

We  greatly  admire  Mr.  Bentley's  sagacity  in  the  case  before  us.  Hugo,  in 
the  simphcity  of  unsophisticated  genius,  had  called  his  book,  in  the  original 
French  edition,  by  the  mere  title  of  "  Notre  Damede  Paris,"  fancying,  probably, 
good  easy  man  !  that  the  old  cathedral  was  the  real  hero  of  the  story,  and  that 
the  minor  personages  of  flesh  and  blood  were  but  secondary  and  subservient 
to  the  giant  of  stone,  who,  from  beginning  to  end,  holds  his  ground,  and 
sways  the  destiny  of  all  around  him.  The  bellringer  Quasimodo,  he  no  doubt 
thought  ^as  we  do)  a  fine  creation  among  the  ol\\tx  drarfiatis  persojice ;  but 
Notre  Dame  herself  was  to  be,  in  his  cast  of  the  characters,  the  unrivalled 
prima  donna.  However,  under  Bentley's  management,  this  was  found  not  to 
be  judicious  catering  for  a  British  auditory.  It  was  deemed  expedient  before 
an  English  public  to  put  the  best  foot  foremost,  to  sink  the  building,  and  to 
invest  the  misshapen  dwarf  with  the  "leadership"  of  the  romance.  Hence 
the  liberty  taken  with  Hugo's  title-page  by  the  "  traditore  ;"  hence,  instead  of 
a  hero  of  stone,  if  we  be  allowed  to  speak  in  the  language  of  Cornelius  a 
Lapide,  the  translator  has  given  us  a  son  of  Abraham. 

A  hunchback,  or  a  lustis  jiaturcB  of  some  kind  or  other,  in  modern  works  of 
fiction,  is  a  sine  qu(l  ?ion — an  essential  ingredient  in  the  romantic  cauldron. 
Banim's  first  and  best  work,  "  Croohooreof  the  Bill-Hook"  is  a  proud  evidence  of 
what  can  be  made  out  of  a  scarecrow.  Need  we  refer  to  Scott's  ' '  Black  Dwarf," 
or  the  splendid  "  Hunchback  "  of  our  admired  friend  Sheridan  Knowles?  And 
here  let  us  observe,  that  we  do  not  agree  with  the  notorious  sceptic  Hobbes,  in 
his  definition  of  a  vicious  man — malus,  puer  robust iis.  Are  not  the  Leprechauns 
of  Crofton  Croker  a  pleasant  race  of  beings,  and  is  he  not  himself  a  notable 
Leprechaun  ?  In  truth,  Crofty  hath  therein  selected  a  fitting  subject  for  his 
-pen—parv2im  parva  decent.  The  adjective  parvus  (but  not  the  verb  decent) 
brings  Tom  Moore  to  our  recollection.  His  "veiled  prophet,"  ugly  and 
stunted  though  he  be,  makes  decidedly  the  most  interesting  character  in  that 
iong-since-forgotten  Oriental  romance  called  "  Lalla  Rookh."  It  must  be 
admitted,  however,  that  Tommys  monster  is  an  exception  to  the  general  good 
c'naracter  of  such  personages;  being,  in  fact,  an  instance  of  unqualified  and 
unmitigated  mahgnity  : — 

"  Then  turn  and  look,  and  wonder  if  thou  wilt. 
That  I  should  hate,  should  take  revenge  by  guilt, 
Upon  that  hand,  whose  mischief  or  whose  mirth 
Sent  me  thus  maimed  and  monstrous  upon  earth  ; 
And  on  that  race,  who,  though  more  vile  they  be 
Than  mowing  apes,  are  demigods  to  me  I 
Here  judge  if  hell,  with  all  its  powers  to  damn, 
Could  add  one  curse  to  the  foul  thing  I  am  !  " 

Those  who  have  strolled  through  the  Vatican  palace  must  have  remarked,  in 
the  fresco  of  Raphael  that  adorns  the  Sola  di  Costantino,  with  w  hat  peculiar 
care  the  painter  has  delineated  the  muscular  urchin,  a  dwarf  of  Pope  Julius,  in 
the  attitude  of  trying  on  a  helmet.  Such  figures  are  by  no  means  unfrequent 
in  the  grandest  efforts  of  the  historical  pencil ;  and  whether  introduced  for  the 
sake  of  contrast,  or  to  gratify  a  secret  feeling  of  self-complacency  which  is  apt 
to  rise  in  the  breast  of  the  beholder,  they  are  standing  jokes  of  art  with  the 
craft.  \\'e  have  an  antique  statue  of  the  favourite  tossu  of  Augustus  among 
the  remains  of  Roman  sculpture  ;  and  it  appears,  from  unquestionable  autho- 


Victor  Hugo's  Lyrical  Poetry, 


291 


rity,  that  the  Emperor  Domitian*  became  highly  popular  for  a  week  at  Rome 
by  introducing  on  the  arena  of  the  amphitheatre  two  pigmy  gladiators,  homu7i- 
culos  gibbosos.  Piaich  and  Jicdy  are  old-established  candidates  for  imbounded 
applause  ;  the  former,  doubtless,  because  of  his  bump, — for  deprive  him  but 
in  thought  of  that  dorsal  protuberance,  and  PoUchinello  at  once  merges  into  a 
vulgar  commonplace  member  of  the  buffoon  fraternity. 

W'e  remember,  before  the  passing  of  the  Reform-bill,  there  used  to  be  about 
the  purlieus  of  the  House  of  Commons  a  very  remarkable  little  fellow,  closely 
answering  the  description  of  Quasimodo,  and  performing  about  Westminster 
Hall  and  St.  Stephen's  Chapel  pretty  nearly  the  functions  ascribed  by  Hugo  to 
the  hunchback  of  Xotre  Dame.  He  would  pilot  "  strangers  from  Yorkshire" 
through  the  lab\Tinth  of  dark  passages  that  then  led  to  tbe  two  houses.  He 
would  be  equally  useful  in  indicating  of  the  narrow  door  that  leads  to  the 
"  Poers'  Corner"  in  the  Abbey.  During  the  session  he  would  be  occasionally 
seen  holding  the  horse  of  some  M.P.,  by  the  toleration  of  the  ser\-ant,  when  it 
was  curious  to  watch  with  what  an  astonished  eye  the  captive  quadruped  would 
scrutinize  his  keeper.  There  was  an  air  of  dignity  withal  about  the  urchin, 
and  a  sense  of  his  important  attributions  quite  becoming.  For  the  last  thirty 
years  he  has  been  known  as  an  integral  part  of  "  his  majesty's  high  court  of 
parliament  holden  at  Westminster,"  but  latterly  he  has  disappeared.  Whither 
has  he  flown  ?  Like  the  "■petit  homme  rouge,"  of  whom  Beranger  singeth,  and 
who  haunted  the  Tuileries,  was  he  the  fairy  guardian  of  the  pile,  and  is  his 
sudden  evanescence  ominous  of  e\il  ?  We  fear  he  was  burnt  in  the  late  fire 
with  the  Exchequer  taUies. 

Charles  Lamb,  who  saw  all  manner  of  things  with  the  shrewd  eye  of  philo- 
sophy, and  to  whom  every  feature  of  the  metropolis  was  the  subject  of  much 
internal  soliloquy,  as  musing  he  passed  through  her  busy  streets,  has  a  remark- 
able passage  in  that  profound  essay  of  his  called  ' '  A  Complaint  of  tlie  Decay  of 
Beggais  ;  "  which  we  here  subjoin  on  the  triple  principle  of  Horace,  viz. 

"  Et  sapit  et  pro  me  facit,  et  Jove  judicat  aequo." 

He  complaineth  thus  : 

"  These  dim  eyes  have  in  vain  explored  for  some  months  past  a  well-knov.-n  figurej  or 
part  of  the  figure,  of  a  man  who  used  to  glide  his  comely  upper  half  over  the  pavements  of 
London,  wheeling  along  with  most  ingenious  celerity  upon  a  machine  of  wood — a  spec- 
tacle to  natives,  to  foreigners,  and  to  children.  He  was  of  a  robust  make,  with  a  sailor- 
like complexion  ;  and  his  head  was  bare  to  the  storm  and  .sunshine.  He  v.as  a  natural 
curiosity,  a  speculation  to  the  scientific,  a  prodigj'  to  the  simple.  The  infant  would  stare 
at  the  mighty  man  brought  down  to  his  own  level.  The  common  cripple  would  despise 
his  own  pusillanimity,  \newing  the  hale  stoutness  and  hearty  heart  of  this  haif-limbed 
giant.  Few  but  must  have  noticed  him  ;  for  the  accident  which  brought  him  low  took 
place  during  the  (no  popery  riots  of  17S0,  and  he  has  been  a  groundling  so  long.  He 
seemed  earth-bom,  an  Antseus,  and  to  suck  in  fresh  vigour  from  the  soil  which  he  neigh- 
boured. He  was  a  grand  fragment — as  good  as  an  Elgin  marble.  I'he  nurture  which 
should  have  recruited  his  reft  legs  and  thighs  was  not  lost,  but  onlj-  retired  into  his  upper 
parts.  He  was  as  the  man  part  of  a  Centaur,  from  which  the  horse  half  had  been  cloven 
in  some  dire  Lapithan  controversy.  He  moved  on  as  if  he  could  have  made  shift  with 
yet  half  of  the  bodj'  portion  which  was  left  him.  The  os  sublime  was  not  wanting,  and 
he  threw  out  yet  a  jolly  countenance  upon  the  heavens.  Forty-and-two  years  had  he 
driven  this  out-of-door  trade  ;  and  now  that  his  hair  is  grizzled  in  the  service,  but  his  good 
spirits  no  v.ay  impaired,  because  he  is  not  content  to  exchange  his  free  air  and  exercise 
for  the  restraints  of  a  poor-house,  he  is  expiating  his  contumacy  in  one  of  those  houses 
(ironically- christened)  of  Correction." 

*  In  his  Life,  by  Suetonius,  we  further  learn  that  this  emperor  once  had  a  dream,  in 
which  he  fancied  himself  transformed  into  rather  a  novel  species  of  hunchback,  fertur 
so}>miasse  gibbam  auream  pone  cervicem  sibi  etiatam  fidsse ! — In  Fit.  Doinit.  ad 
Jine-.n. 


292  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

In  Sir  Joshua's  time,  among  the  models  of  the  Royal  Academy,  many  of 
whom  were  foreigners,  there  was  a  human  oddity  of  French  manufacture,  who 
posed,  stood,  or  squatted,  as  the  case  might  be,  for  all  characters  of  extra  defor- 
mity, and  whose  good  humour  made  him  a  general  favourite  with  the  artists  of 
that  day.  Competition,  however,  had  begun  even  then  to  enter  into  every 
professional  career;  and  great  was  the  indignation  of  our  bossu,  when  a  rival  of 
considerable  pretensions  sought  to  "  push  him  from  his  stool"  at  the  drawing 
establishment :  swelling  with  wrath  at  the  invasion  of  his  vested  rights,  he 
would  take  every  opportunity  of  exalting  his  own  claims  and  disparaging  the 
merits  of  the  new-comer.  "//  est  passablemejit  laid,  sans  doute,  Ic  culstre !" 
exclaimed  our  hero  to  the  president  one  day ;  but,  added  he,  with  a  lofty  feel- 
ing of  conscious  superiority,  "  MAIS  Mor  JE  suis  unique  !  " 

Victor  Hugo's  Quasimodo  is  eminently  entitled  to  use  the  same  tone  of 
triumphant  defiance.  From  his  veiy  first  appearance  in  the  narrative  before  us 
he  makes  a  decided  conquest,  and  elicits  from  a  brilliant  assembly  shouts  of 
admiration;  for  the  novel  opens  with  a  dramatic  representation,  or  "mystery," 
which,  on  the  6th  of  January,  1482,  is  enacted  in  \he  grande  salle  o^  the  old 
Palais  de  Justice  of  Paris  (a  sort  of  French  Westminster  Hall),  and  which  ter- 
minates in  a  scene  of  which  the  hint  is  evidently  borrowed  from  a  paper  in 
Addison's  "Spectator,"  but  is  admirably  worked  up  for  the  purpose  of  introduc- 
ing the  hunchback.  Those  who  recollect  how  well  Isaac  Bickerstaff  describes 
our  old  Enghsh  amusement  of  ' '  grinning  through  a  horse-collar,"  will  recognize 
a  kindred  vein  of  humour  in  the  opening  chapter  of  this  romance.  If  the 
original  idea  belongs  to  Addison,  the  improvements  are  still  so  many,  and  the 
picture  of  ugliness  is  so  elaborately  complete  in  the  sketch  of  the  Frenchman, 
that  we  really  know  not  to  whom  the  tr/^/d? justly  belongs;  and  we  therefore 
leave  this  point  undecided — "  deiiir  tctriori." 

From  the  tenor  of  our  remarks  thus  far,  and  from  what  may  seem  to  super- 
ficial minds  the  idle  tone  of  cur  comments  hitherto,  some  (who  know  not  our 
ways)  may  possibly  imagine  that  we  look  on  this  book  emanating  from  the 
first  genius  of  France  as  a  performance  only  calculated  for  the  amusement  of 
the  frivolous,  and  that  we  would  class  it  with  the  Morganic,  Maryattic,  and 
Nortonian  productions  of  the  day.  Far  otherwise.  This  work  has  within  it 
all  the  elements  of  immortality  :  the  bellringer  of  Xotre  Dame  has  nought  in 
common  with  the  tinkling  cymbals  of  contemporary  novelmongers.  He  sends 
forth  a  peal  loud  and  deep,  that  thrills  to  the  very  inmost  penetralia  of 
the  soul. 

"  Were  ne'er  prophetic  sound  so  full  of  woe  !  " 

Human  passion  in  its  most  fearful  development — the  affections  of  our  nature, 
first  wrought  up  to  preternatural  intensity,  and  then  shown  to  us  in  their  most 
excruciating  disseverance — Ihtjlebile  li/dibriu?n  of  dark  but  scrutinizing  satire— 
and,  painfully  visible  throughout  the  whole  performance,  the  awful  workings  of 
a  strong  mind,  unwilling  to  be  vanquished  by  the  evidences  of  faith,  but  whose 
convulsive  struggles  under  its  victorious  predominance  are  hence  the  more  strik- 
ingly apparent; — such  are  component  parts  of  this  romance,  such  do  we  behold 
Victor  Hugo  in  the  Gothic  sanctuar>'  of  that  Christian  shrine,  under  the  garb 
of  a  novelist,  discoursing,  like  Milton's  fallen  spirits,  of  "fate,  freewill,  fore- 
knowledge absolute,"  a.nd,  like  them,  "finding  no  end,"  but  lost  in  the  inex- 
tricable mazes  of  doubt  and  despair. 

In  the  very  striking  preamble  to  his  novel  he  thus  reveals  his  object : 

"  II  y  a  quelques  arrnees  qu'en  visitant  Xotre  Dame,  I'auteur  trouva  dans  un  recoin 
obscur  d'une  de  ses  tours  ce  mot  grave  sur  le  mur,  '.\NArKH.  Ces  majuscules  Grecques, 
noires  de  vetuste,  et  profondement  entaille'es  dans  la  pierre,  y  furent  tracees  par  une  main 
du  moyen  age  :  leur  sens  lugubre  et  fatal,  le  frapperent  vivement.  C'cst  sur  ce  moi  quon 
a  fait  ce  livre." 


Victor  Hugos  Lyrical  Poetry.  293 

This  is  the  i-n-i/jLydtov  of  his  narrative :  in  those  preliminary  lines  he  sounds 
the  key-note  of  his  song.  And  it  is  a  truly  singular  coincidence — an  odd 
instance  of  fortuitous  agreement  occurring  between  two  writers  separated  by 
the  lapse  of  ages,  albeit  discussing  the  same  topics  of  philosophy— the  one  a 
nominal  Christian,  the  other  an  eminent  disciple  of  Socrates— that  both  such 
have  stumbled  on  this  identical  form  of  introduction,  with  the  simple  change 
from  a  temple  of  Saturn,  or  "Time,"  to  a  Gothic  church  of  "Our  Lady." 
We  allude  to  the  romantic  allegory  of  Cebes,  that  celebrated  picture  of  human 
life  in  which  the  ethics  of  enlightened  paganism,  such  as  they  were,  are  lucidly 
developed,  and  of  which  the  opening  sentence,  if  we  remember  right,  runs  as 
follows  :  'ETuy^^ai/O/Uiy  TnpnraTovv—s^  ku  toj  tov  l^povov  lipio,  iv  w  iruWa 
Kai  aWa  dvadrjuara  idiwpovfitu,  Ivikhto  ce  ITINAS  TI2.     K.  t.  \. 

There  is  a  certain  antique  solemnity  in  that  exordium,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
a  graceful  simplicity ;  nor  is  it  easy  to  pronounce,  in  this  case,  whether  the 
circumstance  of  complete  similarity  between  it  and  the  first  lines  of  Hugos 
romance  ought  to  be  attributed  to  the  instinctive  suggestion  of  innate  taste,  or 
set  down  as  an  intentional  imitation  of  Attic  elegance. 

Nevertheless,  if  we  be  permitted  to  indulge  in  a  few  speculations  of  our  own, 
the  awful  word,  the  appalling  trisyllable  which  so  forcibly  struck  the  fancy  of 
the  Frenchman,  as  it  suddenly  met  his  eye  in  exploring  the  gloomy  cathedral  of 
his  frivolous  metropolis,  may  have  been  traceable  after  all  to  a  \&t\  simple  and 
unphilosophical  origin.  It  might  have  been  a  maiden  effort  at  Greek  caligraphy, 
perpetrated  in  the  "  days  of  Erasmus"  by  some  ingenious  choir-boy  [eufant  de 
chccur\,  on  whose  head  nature  had  formed  a  precocious  bump,  impelling  him 
to  lapidary  inscriptions.  Again,  from  its  occurring  in  one  of  the  towers,  "  dans 
un  rccoin  obsciir,"  in  a  remote  recess,  might  it  not  have  indicated  xhe  peculiar 
destination  of  the  alcove  it  adorned,  a  destination  which,  with  praiseworthy  re- 
serve, the  writer  chose  to  convey  in  a  recondite  language,  so  as  to  be  unintelligible 
to  the  profane. — Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense. — If  this  latter  interpretation  be 
questioned  by  the  "Academic  des  Inscriptions,"  we  must  only  leave  the 
decision  of  the  point  to  the  sagacious  editor  of  the  "Cabinet  Cyclopaedia," 
whose  peculiar  province  it  concerneth. 

But  it  strikes  us  there  is  yet  another  theory  by  which  it  might  be  explained. 
Some  poor  scholar,  or  starving  Greek  tutor  (of  which  genus  there  has  been  a 
plentiful  supply  in  every  age  and  country^,  might  he  not  perchance,  by  the  deep 
traces  of  that  fatal  'ANAFKH.  have  sought  to  eternize  in  stone  his  keen  percep- 
tion of  gnawing  want,  and  thus  left  a  votive  memento  of  famine,  a  monumental 
record  of  hunger  ad  pcrpetuam  rei  viemoriam.  W'e  know  that  Job  on  his 
dunghill  was  visited  by  a  similar  desire  to  perpetuate  his  sentiments,  and  loudly 
wished  that  his  words  might  be  ^'graven  zcith  an  iron  pen  and  lead  in  the  rock 
for  ever."  Too  many  such  memorials  of  anguish  and  endurance  are,  alas  ! 
strewn  over  the  surface  of  the  earth.  Many  a  sigh  of  bygone  woe  thus  finds 
perennial  utterance  ;  many  a  bitter  tear,  shed  in  ages  past,  has  been  thus 
" cr}'stallized  and  made  immortal." 

The  child  of  enthusiasm  delights  in  raising  ghosts  and  conjuring  up  phan- 
toms. What  will  seem  but  a  windmill  to  Sancho,  is  to  his  master  a  giant  in 
full  panoply.  The  imagination  of  Hugo,  of  course,  kindled  at  the  mystic 
word,  and  the  spirit  of  romance  rushed  upon  him.  Beneath  his  glowing  eye, 
TATE,  NECESSITY,  PREDESTINATION,  DOOM,  all  lurked  under  the  letters  that 
made  up  that  one  noun-substantive.  It  was  clearly  indicative  of  ruin  to  some 
one,  it  was  hieroglyghic  of  perdition  somewhere.  It  was  the  sad  epitaph  of 
crushed  hopes,  the  last  fragment  of  some  dread  moral  shipwreck,  Xhejinis  of 
some  terrible  volume.  In  that  word  were  contained  the  primordial  elements  of 
a  grand  catastrophe,  the  seminal  principle  (as  Burke  has  it)  of  some  glorious 
horror — an  "  Iliad"  in  a  nutshell. 

It  is  curious  to  obser\'e  how  many  different,  and  \\hat  singularly  dissonant 


294  1^^^^  Works  of  Father  Prottt. 

meanings  the  same  written  characters  will  convey  to  the  minds  of  men, 
according  to  the  pre\aous  casual  or  habitual  disposition  of  the  parties.  We 
just  now  remember  a  queer  case  in  point.  The  letters  O.T.P.Q.M.V.D., 
which  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.  figured  gorgeously  on  the  drop-curtain  of  the 
French  theatre,  were,  by  the  learned  manager  of  that  day,  intended  to  recall 
the  hackneyed  line, 

"  Omne  tulit  punctum  qui  miscuit  utile  dulci." 

Notwithstaiiding  this  palpable  intention  on  the  part  of  the  contriver,  the  jaun- 
diced eye  of  Freron  (who  wrote  theatrical  criticisms  at  that  period)  could  not 
decipher  the  true  sense  of  those  simple  initials  ;  he  foolishly  insisting  that  they 
should  be  read  thus  : 

"  CEdipe  Tragedie  Pitoyable  Que  Monsieur  Voltaire  Donne." 

We  trust  we  have  not  dwelt  too  long  on  these  p-olegomena,  remembering  the 
author's  declaration  that  he  wrote  his  book  to  interpret  for  posterity  this  fatal 
"  hand-writing  on  the  wall"  of  Notre  Dame,  which  he  considers  as  the  found- 
ation of  his  romance,  and  which,  being  once  understood,  explains  the  whole 
story.  It  was,  in  truth,  a  discovery  which  genius  alone  could  have  made, 
though  the  thing  may  now  appear  quite  simple  and  natural  to  the  badaitds  de 
Paris ;  his  novel,  apparently  like  the  egg  of  Columbus,  only  required  to  have 
a  proper  basis  established  by  an  ingenious  hit,  and  there  it  stands  before  them 
bolt  upright,  a  miracle  of  contrivance. 

We  are  told  by  Gibbon,  that  he  found  the  original  idea  of  his  grand  work  on 
the  "  Decline  and  Fall  "  one  moonlight  night,  while  sitting  among  the  n.iins  of 
the  Flavian  amphitheatre.  We  are,  of  course,  bound  to  believe  the  statement  ; 
but  we  suspect  he  may  have  also  read  the  early  composition  of  Montesquieu, 
"  Sur  la  Grandeur  et  la  Decadence  des  Remains."  The  topic  clearly  is  iden- 
tical :  it  is  only  the  manner  of  treating  it  that  seems  somewhat  different,  just  as 
in  the  case  before  us;  the  "destiny  "  that  presides  over  Hugo's  "  Xotre  Dame" 
differs,  in  detail  and  development,  from  that  which  Diderot  had  previously 
depicted  in  his  wretched  novel  of  "Jacques  le  Fataliste," 

From  the  Stoics  to  the  Manicheans,  and  from  them  to  the  Jansenists,  "  free- 
will," "fore -knowledge,"  and  "fate,"  have  been  favourite  subjects  of  human 
contemplation,  assuming  different  aspects  as  men  were  disposed  to  view  the 
awful  subject  in  its  bearings  on  the  conduct  of  life.  Erasmus  (de  servo  arbitrio 
Luiheri),  and  Leibnitz  (in  his  Harmoua  PrcEstabitita),  not  to  enumerate 
Calvin  and  Kant,  Swedenborg  and  Spinosa,  with  a  host  of  others,  have  lost 
themselves  in  the  inquiry.  They  ventured  on  "  that  great  Serbonian  bog  where 
armies  whole  have  sunk,"  and  sank  accordingly.  They  had  better  have  left 
the  matter  where  they  found  it.  Virgil  long  ago  had  picked  up  the  notion 
that  kjiouoledge  could  control  and  regulate  the  destiny  of  the  true  sage  : 

"  Felix  qui  potuit  rerum  cognoscere  causas, 
Atque  metus  omnes  et  Lnexorabile7^^^'^/7/^ 
Subjecit  pedibiis  strepitum  que  acherontis  avari." 

Georgic.  II. 

And  surely  there  was  more  genuine  philosophy  in  that  position  than  is  to  be 
found  in  his  friend  Horace's  droll  representation  of  avayK-k],  or  necessity ;  a 
personage  whom,  in  his  "  Ode  to  Fortune,"  he  decks  out  in  all  the  attributions 
of  a  traveUing  tinker  or  Jew  pedlar  selling  old  irons  : 

"Te  semper  anteit  serva  Necessitas 

Clavos  trabales  et  cuneos  manu, 

Gestans  ahena,  nee  severus 

Uncus  abest,  liquiduraque  plumbum  ! " 


V^ictor  Hugo's  Lyrical  Poetry.  295 

In  the  work  before  us,  the  doings  of  destiny  are  principally  exemplified  in 
the  fatal  and  uncontrollable  passion  entertained  by  a  learned  priest  for  a  beautiful 
gipsy  wench,  terminating  as  it  does  in  the  destruction  of  both  its  victims  :  the 
author  suitably  delmeates  the  progress  of  this  untoward  frenzy,  as  on  the  one 
hand  itbhghts  and  consumes  the  bud  of  beauty  and  innocence,  while  on  the 
other  it  withers  and  blasts  the  fair  fruits  of  vinue  and  of  science  ;  he  illustrates 
the  tale  with  much  correlative  depicturing,  in  which  an  e\il  genius  seems  to 
dehght  in  thwarting  the  kindliest  affections  of  our  human  nature ;  but  the  grand 
result  is  a  book,  with  all  its  faults,  the  most  powerfully  WTitten,  and  the'most 
intensely  interesting,  that  has  issued  from  the  press  of  modem  France. 

Hugo  seems  to  have  concentrated  his  whole  strength  in  creating  the  character 
of  Claude  FroUo,  the  mysterious  and  impassioned  archdeacon  of  Notre  Dame. 
How  bright  and  pure  in  his  early  career  of  studious  pursuits  and  \irtuous 
deeds  !  how  imperceptible  the  subsequent  transition  from  science,  in  its  legiti- 
mate uses  and  appliances,  to  the  dark  researches  of  forbidden  knowledge — 
from  Xho-fas  to  the  iiefasoi  contemporar\-  learning  !  until,  to  give  the  final  blow 
to  his  prospects  and  his  piety, 

"  Love's  -R-itcher}-  canie  ; '" 

when,  full  soon  under  the  fearful  dominion  of  unhallowed  passion,  he  sinks 
into  a  reprobate  of  the  deepest  dye,  and  becomes  a  ver\"  demon  of  depra%ity. 

All  which  is  meant  as  a  commentary  on  the  word  'AlN  AFKH. 

Much  as  we  admire  the  skill  and  pathetic  power  with  which  the  novelist  has 
WTought  out  his  tale  of  sorrow,  we  cannot  bring  ourselves  to  lay  ail  the  blame  of 
this  sacerdotal  catastrophe  at  the  door  of  destiny.  We  would  ascribe  the  fall  of 
Frollo  to  the  operation  of  much  simpler  agency;  and  we  cannot  help  expressing 
our  regret  that,  gifted  as  the  archdeacon  was  with  superior  talents,  he  had  not 
rather  chosen  to  profit  of  the  newly  invented  art  of  printing,  and  bethought 
himself  of  turning  author  or  editor  :  an  occupation  which  would  have  effec- 
tually banished  the  "  gipsy,"  and,  moreover,  secured  to  us  a  few  goodly  tomes 
in  folio,  bearing  on  their  title-page  1482 — a  date  which  brings  a  pretty  good 
price  at  "  the  sales  "  we  have  lately  attended. 

There  are  many  points  of  resemblance  between  this  unfortunate  ecclesiastic 
and  one  who  had  flourished  on  the  same  spot  tv,o  centuries  before  ;  for,  need 
we  remind  our  readers  that  in  those  same  cloisters  of  Notre  Dame  a  certain 
Peter  Abelard  had  lived  and  loved.  Nor  is  it  im.probable  that  he  supphed 
the  model  of  Hugo's  archdeacon.  One  would  liave  imagined  that  the  mis- 
chances of  that  celebrated  personage  ought  to  have  served  as  a  lesson  to  his 
successors,  and  that  these  local  reminiscences  would  not  have  been  without 
their  moral  ;  yet,  strange  to  say,  Frollo  seems  never  to  have  dwelt  on  the  niatter, 
and  not  the  shghtest  allusion  to  the  affair  of  Heloisa  occurs  in  the  work 
before  us. 

That  was  in  truth  a  sad  affair,  divesting  it  of  all  the  poetn,^v.ith  which  it  has 
been  ingeniously  bedizened,  and  reducing  it  to  a  plain  unvarnished  tale.  Petrus 
Abcelardus  will  be  found  to  have  played  the  part  of  a  deUberate  seducer  in  the 
first  instance,  and  to  have  displayed  consummate  selfishness  subsequently 
throughout  the  whole  transaction  :  not  that  we  totally  approve  of  the  vengeance 
taken  by  old  uncle  Fulbert,  who  was  far  too  savage  on  the  occasion  {Koivtiacd^L^ 
ra  apdtviKa  /iEpi;,as  our  much-esteemed  friend  Origen,  ahigh  authority  in  such 
matters,  has  it,  cap.  vii.,  contra  Cehurn),  but  we  certainly  think  that  the  noble- 
minded  girl  deserved  a  more  chivalrous  lover  than  this  pedant  proved  :  all  the 
heroism,  all  the  delicacv,  all  the  romance,  ail  the  refinement  was  hers. 

Of  Abelard,  as  a  literary  character,  in  days  when  such  accomplishments 
were  scarce,  we  are  far  from  wishing  to  speak  disparagingly ;  though  we  deem 
his  great  contemporary,  St.  Bernard  (the  accomplished  abbot  of  Clara  \'aliis, 


296  TJie   Works  of  Father  Front. 

or  Clairvaux^,  to  have  been  far  his  superior  in  elegant  acquirements,  as  well  as 
in  purity  of  life.  The  excellence  of  the  former  was  chiefly  confined  to  a  certain 
adroitness  in  disputation,  and  a  quickness  in  reply,  which  was  the  great  test  of 
merit  in  the  scholastic  exhibitions  of  the  day  when  the  laiiversalists,  the 
nojninaliits,  and  the  realists,  battled  with  unceasing  verbosity.  And  it  is 
highly  amusing,  at  this  distance  of  time,  to  penise  the  critique  which  Abelard 
passes  on  a  rival  wrangler,  yclept  Anselmus,  whose  defects  he  graphically 
dehneates  in  the  following  passage,  apparently  unconscious  of  its  application 
to  himself  : 

"  Mirabilis  quidem  erat  in  oculis  auscultantium,  sed  nullus  in  conspectu  qusestionan- 
tium.  Verborum  usum  habebat  mirabilem,  sed  sensu  contemptibllem  et  ratione  vacuum. 
Cum  ignem  accenderet  domum  suam  fumo  implebat,  non  luce  illustrabat.  Arbor  ejus  tota 
m/oliis  alonge  conspicuavidebatur,  sed  propinquantibus  et  diligenter  intuentibus  infruc- 
tuosa  reperiebatur.  Ad  banc,  igitur,  cum  accessissem  ut  fructum  inde  colligerem,  depre- 
hendi  illam  esse  ficulneam  cui  maledixit  Dominus,  seu  illam  veterem  quercum  cui  Pom- 
peium  Lucanus  comparat. 

'  Stat  inagiii  nomi7iis  umbra, 
Qualis  frugifero  quercus  sublimis  in  agro.'  " 

But  our  present  business  is  not  \nth  Abelard,  his  character,  opinions,  or 
adventures.  Are  not  these  things  rather  of  the  cognizance  of  Father  Prout, 
and  are  they  not  written  in  some  one  of  his  yet  unpubhshed  papers  ?  Turn  we, 
then,  to  the  book  of  Hugo. 

His  young  gipsy  is  an  exquisite  creatiu-e ;  La  Esmeralda  is  in  truth  a 
beautiful  conception,  and  divinely  bodied  forth.  We  regret  to  find  that  her 
goat  has,  in  certain  quarters,  been  most  unjustifiably  attacked — being  illiberally 
denounced  as  a  plagiarism  from  Sterne's  Maria  :  but  were  it  even  so  (a  conces- 
sion which  we  make  for  the  sake  of  peace  and  quietness),  has  she  not  taught  it 
a  thousand  original  tricks,  has  she  not  so  improved  its  education  and  general 
accomplishments  as  to  render  it  almost  impossible  for  the  poor  maniac,  whom 
Yorick  met  at  Mouhnes,  to  recognize  her  property  in  the  dumb  animal  ?  The 
controversy  appeareth  to  us  a  mere  quibble  ;  what  the  schoolmen  would 
appropriately  call  liteiii  de  lano,  caprin'x.  Then,  as  to  her  Platonic  marriage 
with  that  singular  impersonation,  the  poet  Gringoire,  that  is  surely  an  incident 
of  which  it  would  be  diflScult  to  find  the  prototype  anywhere,  unless  folks  will 
discover  a  parallel  case  in  the  union  of  the  fascinating  Creole  (De  Maintenon) 
with  the  illustrious  cripple  Scarron.  The  devoted  love  which,  in  the  course  of 
the  stor)-,  the  fair  enthusiast  sugldenly  conceives  for  a  brainless  and  heartless 
coxcomb — the  genuine  representative  of  a  class  of  very  plausible  characters  %\ith 
which  every  age  and  country  abounds — Captain  Phoebus  de  Chateaupers  must 
be  accounted  for,  we  imagine,  by  attributing  it  to  the  uncontrollable  influence 
of  that  grim  'ANAFKH  which  frowns  out  of  the  old  towers  of  Notre  Dame  on 
all  who  come  within  the  magic  circle  of  its  sway.  But  the  grand  chord  which 
is  made  to  vibrate  with  deepest  thrill  in  the  reader's  breast  is  the  narrative  and 
discovery  of  her  parentage.  The  half-saint,  half-savage  penitent  of  the 
anchorite  cell  (or  ' '  trou  aux  rats  "),  who  for  fifteen  long  years  since  the  disappear- 
ance of  her  child  has  wept  and  prayed,  until  reason  has  almost  worn  itself  out, 
and  nought  remains  but  the  sense  of  that  one  sad  bereavement,  is  perhaps  the 
most  feehngly  depicted  personage  in  any  modem  work  of  fiction.  Dante,  of 
course,  in  his  memorable  scene  of  Count  Ugolino  and  his  children  in  the 
tower,  stands  yet  unrivalled ;  but  the  concluding  passages  of  tliis  romance, 
where  the  mother  is  grouped  with  her  long-lost  infant,  now  grown  up  into  the 
full  maturity  of  life  and  loveliness— for  the  scaffold  ! — offer  some  of  the  most 
pathetic  pages  we  ever  remember  to  liave  bedewed  with  (irresistibly  flowing) 
tears.  There  are  certain  soliloquies,  certain  sad  and  solitary  outbursts  of 
maternal  tenderness,  dispersed  through  the  volume,  of  which  the  eloquence  is 


Victor  Hugos  Lyrical  Poetry.  297 

truly  heart-rending.  But  thus  to  recover  the  long-prayed- for  object  of  her 
affections,  merely  to  see  it  transferred  to  the  gibbet,  is  a  powerfully  affecting 
result  of  the  fatal  avayKT]  that  regulates  /ler  portion. 

If  the  readers  of  Regina  have  not  perused  the  French  work,  it  is  fit  they 
should  be  made  aware  that  the  "  Irou  aux  rats  "  above  alluded  to  was  a  sort  of 
underground  oratory,  which  formerly  existed  on  the  Place  de  Greve  at  Paris, 
and  was  tenanted  in  succession  by  a  voluntarj'  female  recluse,  whom  penitential 
feeling,  or  some  other  all-absorbing  motive,  would  induce  to  take  up  her 
quarters  in  that  gloomy  cell,  there  to  end  her  days  in  fasting  and  prayer. 
"Tu  Or  a"  was  the  appropriate  recommendatory  motto,  inscribed  in  large 
Gothic  characters  over  the  entrance  of  the  subterranean  dwelling,  and  helped 
to  remind  all  those  learned  in  the  dead  languages  of  a  solemn  duty.  But  the 
uninitiated  vulgar  had  put  their  own  construction  on  it,  and,  by  a  simple 
process  of  popular  interpretation,  it  came  to  signify  the  "  trou  aux  rats." 
It  was  probably  on  this  hint  that  La  Fontaine  wrote  his  capital  fable  of  ' '  The 
Rat  turned  Hermit"  (hvre  vii.  fab.  iii.), 

"  Les  Levantins  en  l°ur  legende 
Disent,  qu'un  certain  rat,  las  des  soins  d'ici-bas, 

Dans  un  fromage  de  Hollande 

Se  retira  loin  du  monde. 

La  solitude  etait  profonde 

S'etendant  tout  a  la  ronde, 
Notre  hermite  nouveau  s'etablit  la  dedans  ; 

II  fit  tant  de  pieds  et  des  dents, 
Qu'il  eut  au  fond  de  cet  hermitage 
Le  vivre  et  le  couvert.     Que  faut-il  d'avantage? 
II  devint  gros  et  gras.     Dieu  prodigue  ses  biens 
A  cenx  qui  font  vceu  d'etre  siens." 

Nor  can  we  dismiss  this  topic  without  remarking  the  perverse  ingenuity  with 
which  the  vulgar  in  every  country  will  translate  such  terms  of  art,  or  science, 
or  foreign  import,  as  come  in  their  way,  so  as  to  attach  some  intelligible  mean- 
ing of  their  own  to  the  words.  It  is  one  of  the  curiosities  of  language.  By 
this  process  sometimes  black  becomes  white  ;  as  is  literally  exemplified  among 
the  sailors  in  the  Downs,  who  call  the  headland  near  Calais  "  Blacktiess," 
seeing  it  marked  on  the  French  chart  as  Bla?ic  Nez.  The  mistake  of  the 
ParisTans,  however,  in  the  matter  of  tu  ora  may  be  matched  by  an  instance  of 
London  hermeneutics.  A  pious  tavern-keeper  in  Holborn,  under  Cromwell's 
protectorate,  had  placed  over  his  tabcrna  the  common  emblem  of  a  serpent 
forming  a  circle,  surrounded  with  the  motto  "  God  cncompasscth  vs."  Could 
the  old  Roundhead  come  to  life  and  revisit  his  quondam  tap,  he  would  find,  to 
his  surprise,  that  the  lofty  truth  which  he  had  emblazoned  on  his  sign  has 
become  [parce  detorta  !) 

"The  Goat  and  Compasses." 

But,  returning  to  our  tale— is  "the  hunchback"  a  mere  //V/^Azr functionary ? 
is  Quasimodo  kept  in  abevance  in  the  progress  of  the  romance?  is  the  "  part 
of  Hamlet"  omitted?  By  no  means.  He  is  studiously  mixed  up  with  every 
incident,  endowed  with  gigantic  energies,  evinces  wondrous  instinct,  and  seems 
gifted  with  a  marvellous  ubiquity ;  yet  chiefly  and  conspicuously  doth  he  shine 
within  the  precincts  of  Notre  Dame. 

"  Ilia  se  jactat  in  aula." 

The  huge  cathedral  had  been  to  him,  since  the  hour  he  was  left  a  foundling 
on  its  cold,  damp,  marble  floor,  a  cradle,  a  home,  a  native  land.  No  cabin- 
boy's  attachment  to  the  gallant  frigate  on  board  of  which  he  was  bom  can  sur- 


pass  Quasimodo's  affection  for  the  venerable  pile.  He  is  the  Hfe  and  soul  of 
the  Gothic  edifice,  in  himself  presenting  a  Gothic  model  of  human  architec- 
ture. Identified  with  the  place  body  and  mind,  he  would  seem  to  be  the  Aat/awi/, 
or  genius  loci— 2Ln  integral  part  of  the  church.  "  II  y  avait  une  sorte  dhar- 
monie  mysterieuse  et  pre-existante  entre  cette  creature  et  cet  edifice.  Lorsque 
tout  petit,  encore  il  se  trainait  tortueusement,  et  par  soubresauts  sous  les 
tenebres  de  ses  routes,  il  semblait  le  reptile  naturel  de  cette  dalle  humide  et 
sombre."  It  is  the  bell-ringer  who  vivifies  this  mighty  mass  of  stone— w^;/.? 
agitat  moleni :  and,  then,  the  delights  of  the  belfry  !  those  loud-tongued  birds 
of  heaven,  singing  out  of  their  gigantic  cage  in  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame. 
For  these,  his  bronze  favourites,  the  hunchback  feels  a  real  passion,  a  most 
romantic  love  :  he  had,  quoth  Hugo,  fifteen  bells  in  his  seragho— ('tis  a  pity 
the  pun  won't  hold  good  in  French)— but  the  big  one  was  his  sultana  elect. 
Why?  He  had  rung  himself  deaf,  and  she  alone  could  now  make  an  impres- 
sion on  the  tympanum  of  his  ear.  Hence  her  lover's  preference.  We  could 
say  something  here  about  matrimonial  squabbles,  but  we  forbear. 

Our  author  shows  amazing  genius  in  tlie  delineation  of  this  dwarf,  especially 
in  the  anatoniy  of  his  mental  qualities ;  where,  v.ith  a  keen  dissecting-knife,  he 
cuts  the  rude  envelopes  that  fold  up  the  li/ux')  of  Quasimodo,  laying  open  the 
internal  workings  of  this  singular  being,  and  displaying  the  inner  operations  of 
nature  in  so  odd  a  specimen  of  her  handicraft.  The  hunchback  is,  in  sooth, 
a  most  poetical  monster,  a  most  accomplished  machine,  possessed  of  a  double 
entity  liKe  the  centaurs — half  man,  half  bell.  Hugo  seems,  Tioreover,  to  sym- 
pathize with  the  bell-ringer  in  his  tintinnabular  enthusiasm  ;  for  never  is  his  style 
more  anim.ated  than  when,  as  on  one  occasion,  he  sets  all  the  steeples  of  Paris 
into  simultaneous  commotion  :  an  admired  passage,  which  will  be  found  quoted 
at  full  length  by  Prout,  in  his  "  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore,"*  wherein  the  father 
showeth  how  "Those  Evening  Bells"  were  stolen  by  Tom,  who,  we  verily 
believe,  would  steal  \hQ  great  Tom  of  Lincoln,  were  his  strength  commensurate 
with  his  predatory  propensities.  This  case  of  robbery  is  duly  provided  against 
in  the  code  of  Justinian,  who  has  enacted  (in  Leg.  Rust,  titul.  ii.),  "  Si  quis 
crepitaculum  bovis  abstulerit  fiagdlator  ut  fur."  And  as  we  are  on  this  sub- 
ject, we  may  refer  the  curious  to  the  treatise  of  ^Magius,  "De  Tintinnabulis;" 
as  also  to  a  book  by  Durandus,  called  "  Camp;mologia."  To  these  authorities 
we  could  wish  to  add  a  work  by  some  Germ;in  friar,  who  wrote  in  1320  to  prove 
■that  an  unlimited  faculty  of  bell-ringing  will  form  part  of  the  celestial  beatitude. 
W'e  have  un.'"ortunately  forgotten  the  good  man's  name,  which  hath  such  an 
undoubted  right  to  be  loudly  tolled. 

The  old  cathedral  of  Paris  which  gives  its  name  to  the  book  is  still  the  main 
point  of  attraction  towards  which  all  the  events  and  characters  naturally  gravi- 
tate, and  round  which  the  whole  story  revolves.  There  is  an  admirable  sketch 
of  the  ancient  university,  the  pays  Latin,  and  the  abbey  of  St.  Germains,  which 
was  far  from  presenting  in  those  days  the  appearance  which  that  "  noble  faux- 
bourg"  has  since  assumed:  there  is  also  a  splendid  account  of  the  "  Cour  des 
Miracles,"  or  St.  Giles's  district ;  nor  is  it  possible  to  find  in  any  work,  ancient 
or  modern,  a  more  minute  and  vivid  picture  of  the  capital'  of  France  at  the 
close  of  the  fifteenth  century  than  has  been  drawn  by  the  lively  pencil  of  our 
author  :  still,  in  the  most  devious  wanderings  of  his  narrative,  taking  as  it  does 
the  range  of  the  whole  city,  we  never  for  a  moment  lose  sight  of  the  venerable 
pile  of  Notre  Dame.  Proudly  swelling  over  the  undulating  surface  of  Gothic 
roofs,  halls,  colleges,  monasteries,  prisons,  hotels,  and  inferior  edifices  (which 
he  has  so  accurately  described  in  a  special  chapter  devoted  to  a  bird's-eye  view 
of  the  metropolis),  the  cathedral  rears  itself  in  massive  grandeur  conspicuous 
above  them  all — an  architectural  leviathan. 

■'  Dorsum  immane  mari  summo." 
*  See  Regi.n.\,  vol.  ix.  p.  208. 


Victor  Hugos  Lyrical  Poetry.  299 

The  only  rival  that  can  for  a  moment  divide  the  interest  of  the  reader  with 
that  mighty  monument  is  the  wondrous  citadel  of  bygone  despotism— the 
never-to-be-forgotten  Bastille.  Of  that  memorable  construction  not  a  vesti^-e 
now  remains;  but  in  the  solidity  of  its  materials  and  the  vastness  of  its  giant 
proportions  it  appears  to  have  had  no  equal  among  the  ponderous  dungeons 
that  have  encumbered  the  earth.  The  cell  at  the  summit  of  one  of  its  towers, 
wherein  Louis  Onze  is  introduced  at  the  dead  of  night,  in  converse  with  his 
prime  minister  and  barber,  Olivier  le  Alauvais,  attended  by  his  chief  hangman, 
Tristan  I'Hermite,  is  full  of  historical  tr^ith — a  merit  which  we  are  not  able  to 
recognize  in  Sir  Walter  Scoit's  "  Quentin  Durward, "  treating  of  the  same  matter. 
In  fact,  we  have  heard  old  Beranger  express  himself  greatly  dissatisfied  with 
Sir  Walter's  French  delineations;  and  we  think  there  are  solid  grounds  for  the 
strictures  with  which,  in  our  hearing,  the  chansonnicr  visited  that  performance. 
As  to  Louis  Onze,  by  the  way,  the  best  idea  of  his  character  is  to  be  found  in 
Beranger's  own  song,  in  which  the  tyrant,  by  a  striking  and  effective  contrast, 
is  described  as  looking  out,  from  his  watch-tower  of  Plessis  les  Tours,  on  a 
village-dance  in  the  neiglibouring  Iramlet,  thro.ugh  the  iron  bars  of  his  gloomy 
chateau.  Tliat  "  donjon  "  and  the  Bastille  were  the  monarch's  favourite  resi- 
dences. The  latter,  as  all  the  world  knows,  has  been  blown  down  by  the 
breath  of  popular  wrath ;  and  an  elephant  in  plaster  of  Paris  having  been,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  erected  in  its  place,  a  restaurateur  conceived  the 
bright  idea  of  establishing  his  salou  in  the  capacious  interior  of  the  colossal 
animal,  where  we  recollect  to  have  eaten  a  cotellette  d  la  Maintenoii,  in  1828  ; 
but  we  learn  that  both  the  elephant  and  the  artiste  have  been  latterly  com- 
pelled to  pack  up  their  trunks,  to  make  way  for  a  bronze  column  in  honour  of 
the  three  days.  All  this  is  at  it  should  be.  Buildings  crumble  into  dust,  or 
are  swept  away  by  hands  :  lightning,  earthquakes,  or  artillery,  soon  dispose  of 
the  mighty  mass ;  but  it  is  given  to  genius  to  reconstruct  of  more  durable 
materials  the  monuments  of  history.  The  towers  of  Ilion  are  still  erect  in  song; 
Kenilworth  still  rears  its  gigantic  form  in  the  page  of  Scott ;  and  even  the  Bas- 
tille has  obtained  from  Hugo  a  species  of  existence. 

•'  Quod  non  imber  edax  non  aquilo  impotens 
Possit  diruere,  aut  innumerabilis, 
Annorum  series  et  fuga  temporum." 

Lib.  iii.  cd-j  30, 

The  day  may  yet  come  when  this  romance  will  be  the  only  local  habitation 
of  the  cathedral  itself, — when  its  glorious  porch,  like  the  Scasan  gate,  will  have 
no  other  existence  than  what  poetr}^  and  eloquence  will  have  secured  to  it — 
when  Utilitarianism  will  have  discovered  that  its  stones  and  materials  might  be 
converted  to  some  more  useful  purpose,  and  that  (as  well  observed  by  a  Ben- 
thamite disciple,  ainio  domtui  33)  "  they  might  be  sold  for  more  than  three 
hundred  pence,  and  given  to  the  poor."  \Vhen  that  event  shall  have  taken 
place,  generations  yet  unborn  will  solace  themselves  in  the  work  of  Hugo, 
which  will  in  that  distant  age  be  read  with,  if  possible,  greater  avidity  than  by 
the  sons  of  modern  France,  amongst  whom  more  than  a  dozen  editions  have 
already  been  devoured.  We  trust,  however,  that  our  anticipation  of  destruction 
to  the  venerable  monument  may  not  be  too  speedily  realized,  even  though  such 
a  consummation  would  enhance  the  value  of  this  admirable  novel. 

"Tarda  sit  ilia  dies  et  nostro  serior  cevo  !  " 

We  may,  in  conclusion,  be  allowed  to  draw  attention  to  the  striking  dif- 
ference as  to  matter,  style,  and  thought,  between  the  work  before  us  and  the 
performances  which  in  the  reign  of  the  Grand  AIou argue— the  classic  days  of 
French  composition — issued  under  the  name  of  novels  from  the  press  of  that 


300  The  Works  of  Father  Proitt. 

country.  Pope,  who  had  a  keen  relish  for  the  productions  of  the  Gallic  muse 
in  all  other  departments  of  Hterature,  has  recorded  his  opinion  of  those 
romances  in  terms  not  to  be  mistaken.  The  following  sarcastic  juxtaposition, 
which  occurs  in  his  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  would  indicate  that  he  rated  their  intel- 
lectual character  very  low  indeed  ;  it  is  the  recital  of  a  burnt-offering  to  frivolity 
— a  holocaust  made  up  of  truly  kindred  materials — 

"An  altar  built 
Of  twelve  vast  French  romances,  neatly  gilt. 
There  lay  three  garters,  half  a  pair  of  gloves. 
Trophies  and  tokens  of  his  former  loves  ; 
Then  with  a  billet-doux  he  lights  the  pyre, 
And  breathes  an  amorous  sigh  to  raise  the  fire." 

Ca7it.  II.  V.  37. 

The  progressive  improvement  which  works  of  fiction  have  undergone  among 
our  neighbours  is  indeed  remarkable.  In  the  days  of  Boileau,  the  current 
chef-d' auvres  in  that  line  were  D'Urfey's  "  Astrea,"  with  the  "  Clelia"  and  other 
absurdities  of  Madlle.  de  Scuderi,  a  lady  who  seems  to  have  enjoyed  a  patent 
for  the  supply  of  such  productions,  and  who,  by  the  voluminous  fecundity  of 
hei  genius  in  this  line  of  writing  (crebris  partibus,  as  Abbe  de  Sade  would  say), 
deserved  to  be  commemorated  by  the  French  satirist  thus  : 

"  Heureuse  Scuderi  dont  la  fertile  plume, 
Peut  tous  les  mois  sans  peine  enfanter  un  volume." 

Sat.  II.  v.  77. 

But  the  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  whose  sentimental  doings  were  therein 
chronicled  might  as  well,  for  any  chance  of  flourishing  in  the  record  of  fame, 
have  gone  to  their  graves  "unwept,  unhonoured,  and  unsung." 

The  model  on  which  all  these  novels  were  constructed  seems  to  have  been  a 
certain  work  which  the  great  Racine  himself  is  known  to  have  dihgently  studied 
and  vastly  admired:  we  allude  to  a  Greek  romance  entitled  "Theagenesand 
Chariclea,"  written  by  one  Heliodorus,  bishop  of  Trica,  in  the  fourth  century. 
This  novel  is  quoted  by  the  learned  heresiarch  Photius,  in  his  "  Bibliotheca," 
where,  at  page  157,  he  gives  an  extract,  accompanied  with  comments,  in  the 
style  of  a  modern  reviewer.  It  made  some  noise  in  its  day,  for,  in  consulting 
an  accurate  ecclesiastical  historian,  Nicephorus,  lib.  12,  cap.  24,  we  find  that 
such  was  the  scandal  occasioned  by  so  flagrant  an  instanceof  episcopal  frivolity, 
as  the  composition  of  such  a  work  evinced  on  the  part  of  its  author,  that  he 
was  summoned  to  disavow  his  book  or  resign  his  mitre.  We  believe  he  chose 
the  latter  alternative.  In  the  ninth  century,  however,  Turpin,  archbishop  of 
Rheims,  undaunted  by  the  fate  of  his  venerable  predecessor  in  the  path  of 
novel-writing,  composed  the  celebrated  romance  of  "  Roland  and  Charlemagne," 
the  oldest  tale  of  European  chivalry.  This  may  be  looked  on  as  the  earliest 
work  of  that  species  in  modern  literature;  and  was  followed  by  a  mass  of 
similar  productions,  assilly  as  their  prototype.  The  "  Roman  dela  Rose"  falsely 
attributed  to  Abelard,  was  one  of  the  most  popular.  "  Amadis  de  Gaul"  was 
another  of  these  crude  narratives. 

But  it  was  reserved  for  a  third  episcopal  functionary  to  give  a  rational  tone 
and  a  philosophic  tendency  to  professed  works  of  fiction;  and  the  delightful 
Fenelon  de  Cambray,  in  his  immortal  "  Telemaque,"  opened  the  list  of  more 
dignified  and  intellectual  authorship  in  the  province  of  romance.  We  know 
not  whether  the  adventures  of  the  son  of  Ulysses  in  search  of  his  father  be  not 
the  first  instance  of  the  historical  novel  :  we  strongly  incline  to  place  the  "Cyro- 
pasdia"  of  the  accomplished  Xcnophon  at  the  head  of  the  catalogue.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  the  form  of  narrative  was  now  discovered  to  be  the  readiest  and  most 


Victor  Hugo's  Lyrical  Poetry. 


301 


acceptable  vehicle  for  conveying  information  or  establishing  a  theory.  From 
the  "Telemaque"  of  Fenelon  to  the  "  Anacharsis"  of  Abbe  Bartholemi  it  was 
adopted  with  success  by  the  writers  of  France.  Rousseau  w  rote  his  ' '  Emile"  and 
his  "Heloise,"  Voltaire  his  "  Candide,"  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre  his  "Paul  et 
Virginie,"  Chateaubriand  his  "  Martyrs,"  avowedly  with  those  views.  But  we 
firmly  assert,  that  of  the  fictions  we  have  enumerated,  and  to  which  we  might 
add  a  dozen  more  of  minor  celebrity  by  Florian,  Marmontel,  De  Genlis,  and 
De  Stael  (Le  Sage  forming  a  class  apart,  a  distinct  ^tv;//j-  in  himself),  though 
many  are  superior  in  the  utility  of  their  object,  and  the  value  of  their  incul- 
cations, none  can  vie  in  execution  and  in  detail  with  the  work  of  Hugo.  In 
all  the  qualities  that  attract  and  rivet  attention,  in  deep  and  original  thought, 
in  brilliancy  of  wit  and  playfulness  of  fancy,  in  accuracy  of  costume  and  faith- 
ful portraiture  of  the  times,  in  pathos  and  dramatic  effect,  in  all  the  e\idences 
of  true  genius,  his  book  is  far  beyond  them  all. 

On  this  work  rests  his  renown.  He  has  written  much,  and  will  doubtless 
write  more  ;  but  nothing  has  hitherto  issued  from  his  pen,  and  we  fear  nothing 
is  likely  to  follow,  that  can  bear  the  remotest  comparison  with  this  extraordinary 
achievement.  His  "  Bugjargal"  is  a  pitiful  performance  ;  his  "  Hans  D'Islande" 
is  extravagant  and  unnatural;  his  "  Lucrece  Borgia"  and  "  !Marie  Tudor" 
border  on  the  ravings  of  insanity.  He  of  course  ij  the  fittest  judge  of  what 
is  best  for  his  interests  as  an  homine  de  Icttrcs,  subsisting  by  the  labours  of  his 
pen,  and  naturally  turning  his  attention  to  what  is  most  profitable  in  the  pur- 
suits of  literature  ;  but  draniatic  productions,  in  the  taste  of  his  late  works  for  the 
French  theatre,  however  applauded  by  the  debased  sensualists,  shallow  cox- 
combs, and  ruffian  sans  culoticrie,  that  decide  on  these  matters  at  the  porte  St. 
Martin,  will  not  add  to  the  glory  he  has  won  by  his  "  Xotre  Dame."  To  us  he 
seems  to  be  miserably  wasting  his  energies  on  the  stage ;  but  the  field  of  his- 
torical romance  is  the  chariip  clos  where  he  may  be  truly  irresistible  and  un- 
rivalled. Ajax  mad,  fiirens  or  /iacrTiyo(popo?,  is  but  a  pitiable  object,  venting 
his  rage  on  cattle  and  slaughtering  a  flock  of  sheep  in  the  tragedy.  The  same 
hero,  in  the  epic  narrative,  stands  erect  and  dignified  on  the  plains  of  Troy, 
the  "  buckler  of  the  Grecians." 

In  l\Tical  poetry,  Hugo  has  shown  a  more  dehcate  perception  of  nature,  and 
a  more  correct  judgment,  than  in  his  melancholy  attempts  at  the  drama; 
though  there  also  is  much  to  reprehend  in  the  volumes  he  has  put  forth  under 
the  various  titles  of  "  Orientales,"  "  Feuilles  d'Automne,"  and  "Ballads."  His 
versification  is  vigorous  ;  and  great  originahty  is  displayed  in  the  selection  of  his 
topics,  as  well  as  in  the  point  of  view  he  chooses  to  consider  them ;  but  he  has 
neither  the  finished  grace  nor  the  forcible  simplicity  of  the  inimitable  Beranger. 
\\'e  are  enabled  to  subjoin  a  few  specimens  of  his  genius  in  this  department, 
by  the  circumstance  of  meeting  with  the  following  among  some  loose  papers 
in  the  chest  of  Father  Prout,     We  give  them  without  a  word  of  commentary. 


LA   GRAXD-MERE. 
Victor  Hugo. 

"  Dors-tu? — Reveille-toi,  mere  de  notre  mere  ! 

D'ordinaire  en  dormant  ta  bouche  remuait  : 
Car  ton  sommeil  souvent  ressemble  a  ta  prierC) 
Mais  ce  soir  on  dirait  la  Madonne  de  pierre, 

Ta  le\Te  est  immobile  et  ton  souffle  est  muet. 

Pourquoi  courber  ton  front  plus  bas  que  de  couturne  ? 

Quel  mal  avons-nous  fait  pour  ne  plus  nous  cherir? 
Vois,  la  lampe  palit,  I'astre  scintille  et  fume  ; 
Si  tu  ne  paries  pas,  le  feu  qui  se  consume, 

Et  la  lampe  et  nous  deux,  nous  allons  tous  mourir  ! 


302 


The  Woj'ks  of  Father  Front. 


Donne-noiis  done  tes  mains  dans  nos  mains  rechauffees  ; 

Chante-nous  quelque  chant  de  pauvre  troubadour  ; 
Dis-nous  ces  chevaliers  qui  servis  par  les  fees, 
Pour  bouquets  a  leurs  dames  apportaient  des  trophees, 

Et  dont  le  cri  de  guerre  etait  un  chant  d'amour. 

Dis-nous  quel  divin  signe  est  funeste  aux  fantomes — 

Quel  hermite  dans  I'air  vit  Lucifer  volant — 
Quel  rubis  etincelle  au  front  du  roi  des  Gnomes — 
Kt  si  le  noir  demon  craint  plus  dans  ses  royaumes 
Les  psaumes  de  Turpin  ou  le  fer  de  Roland. 

Ou  montre-nous  ta  Bible  aux  images  dorees  ; 

Les  saints,  vetus  de  b'anc,  protecteurs  des  hameaux  ; 
Les  vierges  de  rayons  dans  leur  joye  entourees, 
Et  ces  feuillets  ou  luit,  en  lettres  ignorees, 

Le  langage  inconnu  qui  dit  a  Dieu  nos  maux. 

Mere  !  helas,  par  degres  s'affaise  la  lumiere  ! 

Iv'ombre  joyeuse  danse  autour  du  noir  foyer  ; 
Les  esprits  vont  peut-etre  entrer  dans  la  chaumiere  ; 
Oh,  sors  de  ton  sorr.meil  interromps  ta  priere  ! 

Toi  qui  nous  rassurais,  veux  tu  nous  effrayer  ! 

Dieu,  que  tes  bras  sont  froids  !     Ouvre  les  yeux  !...Naguere 

Tu  nous  parlais  d'un  monde  on  nous  menent  nos  pas, 
Et  de  ciel,  et  de  tombe,  et  de  vie  ephemere — 
Tu  parlais  de  la  mort  !     Dis-nous,  O  notre  mere  ! 

Quest-ce  done  que  la  mort  ?    Tu  ne  nous  repond  pas  ?  " 

Leur  gemissante  voix  longtemps  se  plaignit  seule, 
La  jeune  aube  parut  sans  reveiller  I'ayeule  ; 

La  cloche  frappa  Fair  de  ses  funebres  coups, 
Et  le  soir,  un  passant,  par  la  pone  entrouverte, 
Vit,  devant  le  saint  livre  et  la  couche  deserte, 

Les  deux  petits  enfans  qui  priaient  a  genoux. 


THE   GRANDCHILDREN. 

A  Ballad. 
Victor  Hugo. 

Still  asleep  !    We  have  been  since  the  noon  thus  alone. 

Oh,  the  hours  we  have  ceased  to  number  ! 
Wake,  grandmother  ! — speechless  say  why  art  thou  grown? 
Then  thy  lips  are  so  cold  !— the  Madonna  of  stone 

Is  like  thee  in  thy  holy  slumber. 

We  have  watch'd  thee  in  sleep,  we  have  watch'd  thee  at  prayer, 

But  what  can  now  betide  thee  ? 
Like  thy  hours  of  repose  all  thy  orisons  were. 
And  thy  lips  would  still  murmur  a  blessing  whene'er 

Thy  children  stood  beside  thee. 

Now  thine  eye  is  unclosed,  and  thy  forehead  is  bent 

O'er  the  hearth,  where  ashes  smoulder  ; 
And,  behold  I  the  watch-lamp  will  be  s]5ecdily  spent, 
Art  thou  vex'd?  have  wc  done  aught  amis  ?     Oh,  relent ! 

But. ..parent,  thy  hands  grow  colder  ! 


Victor  Hugo's  Lyrical  Poetry.  303 

Say.  \\'ith  ours  wilt  thou  let  us  rekindle  in  thine 

The  glow  that  has  departed  ? 
Wilt  thou  sing  us  some  song  of  the  days  of  lang  syne  ? 
Wilt  thou  tell  us  some  tale,  from  those  stories  divine. 

Of  the  brave  and  the  noble-hearted  ? 

Of  the  dragon,  who,  crouching  in  forest  or  glen. 

Lies  in  wait  for  the  unwary — 
Of  the  maid,  who  was  freed  by  her  knight  from  the  den 
Of  the  Ogre,  whose  blade  was  uplifted,  but  then 

Tum'd  aside  by  the  wand  of  a  fairy  ? 

Wilt  thou  teach  us  spell  words  that  protect  from  all  harm, 

And  thoughts  of  e«l  banish? 
WTiat  goblins  the  sign  of  the  cross  may  disarm  ? 
What  saint  it  is  good  to  invoke  ?  and  what  charm 

Can  make  the  demon  vanish  ? 

Or  unfold  to  our  gaze  thy  most  wonderful  book, 

So  fear'd  by  hell  and  Satan  ; 
At  its  hermits  and  martjTS  in  gold  let  us  look. 
At  the  virgins,  and  bishops  ^%•ith  pastoral  crook. 

And  the^ hymns  and  the  prayers  in  Latin. 

Oft  with  legends  of  angels,  v.-ho  watch  o'er  the  young. 

Thy  voice  was  wont  to  glad  us  ; 
Have  thy  lips  got  no  language  ?  no  wisdom  thj'  tongue  ? 
Oh,  see  !  the  light  wavers,  and,  sinking,  hath  flung 

(Dn  the  wall  mysterious  shadows  ! 

Wake  !  awake  !  evil  spirits  perhaps  may  presume 

To  haunt  thy  holy  dwelling ; 
Pale  ghosts  are,  perhaps,  coming  into  the  room — 
Oh,  would  that  the  lamp  were  relit  '.—with  the  gloom 

These  fearful  thoughts  dispelling. 

Thou  hast  told  us  our  parents  lie  sleeping  beneath 

The  grass,  in  a  churchyard  lonely  : 
Now  thine  eyes  have  no  motion,  thy  mouth  has  no  breath, 
And  thy  limbs  are  all  rigid  !     Oh  saj-.  Is  this  de.a.th. 

Or  thy  prayer  or  thy  slumber  only  ? 

Envoy. 

Sad  vigil  they  kept  by  that  grandmother's  chair. 

Kind  angels  hover'd  o'er  them — 
And  the  dead-bell  was  toU'd  in  the  hamlet— and  there, 
On  the  following  eve,  knelt  that  innocent  pair. 

With  the  missal-book  before  them. 


I  LE    VOILE. 

\  Orientales. 

]  Victor  Hugo. 

"  Avez-vous  fait  votre  priere  ce  soir,  Desdemona?  "—Shakespeare. 

I  LA   SCEfK. 

I  Qu'avez-vous,  qu'avez-vous,  mes  freres?            Vos  ceintures  sont  de'chirees ;_ 

i  Vous  baissez  des  fronts  soucieux.                         De'ja  trois  fois  hors  de  1  etui, 

1  Comme  des  lampes  fune'raires,                              Sous  vos  doigts  a  demi  tirees 

!  Vos  regards  bnllent  dans  vos  yeux.                     Les  lames  des  poignards  ont  im. 


304  The   Works  of  Father  Front. 

LE  FRERE  AINE.  Vous  faut-il  du  sang?  sur  votre  ames. 

N'avez-vous  pas  leve  votre  voile  auiourd'-        ^  ^^^^  freres,  il  n'l  pii  me  voir. 

Jmj9  Grace!     luerez  vous  une  femme, 

Foible  et  nue,  en  votre  pouvoir  ? 


LE   TROISIEME   FRERE. 


LA    SCEUR. 

Je  revenais  du  bain,  mes  freres  ; 

Seigneurs,  du  bain  je  revenais,  ^         .  ..  ,    . 

Cachee  aux  regards  teme'raires,  Le  soleil  etait  rouge  a  son  coucher  ce  soir  ! 

Des  Giaours  et  des  Albanais  ; 

En  passant  prfes  de  la  mosquee,  la  sceur. 

Dans  mon  palanquin  reconvert,  Grace  !  qu'ai-je  fait  ?     Grace  !  grace  ! 

L'air  de  midi  m"a  suffoque'e,  Dieu  !  quatre  poignards  dans  mon  flanc  ! 

Mon  voile  un  mstant  sest  ouvert.  Ah  !  par  vos  genoux  que  j'embrasse... 

Oh,  mon  voile  !  oh,  mon  voile  blanc  ! 

LE   SECOND    FRERE. 

Un  homme  alors  passait?  un  homme  en        Ne  fuyez  pas  mes  mains  qui  saignent, 
caftan  vert  ?  Mes  freres  soutenez  mes  pas  ! 

Car  sur  mes  regards  qui  s'eteignent 
LA  SCEUR.  S  etend  un  voile  de  trepas. 

Oui  !...peut-etre...mais  son  audace 

N'a  pas  vu  mes  traits  de  voiles. — 
Mais  vous  vous  parlez  a  voix  basse  !  ^^  quatrieme  frere. 

A  voix  basse  vous  vous  parlez  !  C'en  est  un  que  du  moins  tu  ne  leveras  pas ! 

THE   VEIL. 

An  Oriental  Dialogue. 

Victor  Hugo. 

the  sister. 
What  has  happen'd,  my  brothers  ?    Your  spirit  to-day 

Some  secret  sorrow  damps  : 
There's  a  cloud  on  your  brow.     What  has  happen'd?  oh, say ! 
For  your  eye-balls  glare  out  with  a  sinister  ray. 

Like  the  light  of  funeral  lamps. 

And  the  blades  of  your  poniards  are  half-unsheathed 

In  your  zone... and  j^e  frown  on  me  ! 
There's  a  wo  untold,  there's  a  pang  unbreathed 

In  your  bosom,  my  brothers  three. 

ELDEST    BROTHER. 

Gulnara,  make  answer  !     Hast  thou,  since  the  dawn, 
To  the  eye  of  a  stranger  thy  veil  withdrawn  ? 

THE  SISTER. 

As  I  came,  O  my  brothers  !...at  noon.. .from  the  bath... 

As  I  came... it  was  noon... my  lords... 
And  your  sister  had  then,  as  she  constantly  hath, 
Drawn  her  veil  close  around  her,  aware  that  the  path 

Is  beset  by  these  foreign  hordes. 

But  the  weight  of  the  noonday's  sultry  hour. 

Near  the  mosque  was  so  oppressive. 
That. ..forgetting  a  moment  the  eye  of  the  Giaour, 

I  yielded  to  heat  excessive. 

SECOND    BROTHER. 

Gulnara,  make  answer  !     Whom,  then,  hast  thou  seen. 
In  a  turban  of  white  and  a  caftan  of  green? 


Victor  Hugo's  Lyrical  Poetry.  305 

THE  SISTER. 

Nay,  Ite  might  have  been  there  ;  but  I  muffled  me  so. 

He  could  scarce  have  seen  my  figure. 

But  why  to  your  sister  thus  dark  do  you  grow  ? 
What  words  to  yourselves  do  you  mutter  thus  low, 

Of  "  blood,"  and  "  an  intriguer"  l 

Oh  !  ye  cannot  of  murder  bring  down  the  red  guilt 

On  your  souls,  my  brothers,  surely  I 
Though  I  fear... from  your  hand  that  I  see  on  the  hilt, 

And  the  hints  you  give  obscurely. 

THIRD   BROTHER. 

Gulnara  !  this  evening  when  sank  the  red  sun, 

Hast  thou  mark'd  how  like  blood  in  descending  it  shone? 

THE   SISTER. 

Mercy  !  Allah  !  three  daggers  !  have  pity  !  oh,  spare  ! 

See  !  I  cling  to  your  knees  repenting  ! 
Kind  brothers,  forgive  me  !  for  mercy,  forbear  ! 
Be  appeased  at  the  voice  df  a  sister's  despair. 

For  your  mother's  sake  relenting. 

O  God  !  must  I  die  ?    They  are  deaf  to  my  cries  ! 

Their  sister's  life-blood  shedding  ; 
They  have  stabb'd  me  again. ..and  I  faint.. .o'er  my  eyes 

A  Veil  of  Death  is  spreading ! — 

ELDEST   BROTHER. 

Gulnara,  farewell  !  take  that  veil ;  'tis  the  gift 
Of  thy  brothers— a  veil  thou  never  wilt  lift  ! 

LE   REPAS    LIBRE. 

Aux  Rois  de  V Europe. 

"  II  y  avait  a  Rome  un  antique  usage  :  la  veille  de  I'exe'cution  des  condamnes  a  mort, 
on  leur  donnait,  a  la  porte  de  la  prison,  un  repas  publique,  appele  Le  J\e/>as  hbre.  — 
CHATE.\UbKiAND,  Les  Martyrs. 

Lorsqua  I'antique  Olympe  immolant  Teyangile, 
Le  pre'teur,  appuyant  cl"un  tribunal  fragile, 

Ses  temples  odieux, 
Livide,  avait  proscrit  des  Chretiens  pliens  de  joie, 
Victimes  qu'attendaient,  acharne's  sur  leur  proie, 

Les  tigres  et  les  dieux. 

Rome  ofTrait  un  festin  a  leur  elite  sainte, 
Comme  si,  sur  les  bords  du  calice  d"absinthe, 

Versant  un  peu  de  miel ; 
Sa  pitie  des  martyrs  ignorait  I'e'nergie, 
Et  voulait  consoler,  par  une  folle  orgie, 

Ceux  qu'appelait  le  ciel. 

Le  pourpre  recevait  ces  convives  austeres  ; 
Le  falerne  ecumait  dans  de  larges  crateres, 

Ceints  de  mvrtes  fleuris  ;  _  ^ 

Le  miel  d'Hybla  dorait  les  vins  de  Malyoisie, 
Et,  dans  les  vases  dor,  les  parfums  de  I'Asie 

Lavaient  leurs  pieds  meutris. 


3o6  TJie  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


L'n  art  profond,  melant  les  tributs  des  trois  mondes, 
Devastait  les  forets  et  depeulait  les  ondes 

Pour  ce  libre  repas  ; 
On  eut  dit  qu'epuisant  la  prodigue  nature, 
Sybaris  conviait  aux  banquets  d'Epicure 

Ces  elus  du  trepas. 

Les  tigres  cependant  s'agitaient  dans  leur  chaine  ; 
Les  leopards  captifs  de  la  sanglante  arene 

Cherchaient  le  noir  chemin  ; 
Et  bientot,  moins  cruels  que  les  femmes  de  Rome, 
Ces  monstres,  s'etonnaient  d'etre  applaiidis  par  rhomme, 

Baignes  de  sang  humain. 

On  jetait  aux  lions  les  confesseurs,  les  pretres, 
Telle  un  main  servile  a  de  dedaigneux  maitres 

Offre  un  mets  savoureux  ; 
Lorsqu'au  pompeux  banquet  siegeait  leur  saint  conclave. 
La  pale  Mort,  debout  comme  un  muet  esclave, 

Se  tenait  derriere  eux. 

O  rois  I  comme  un  festin  s'ecoule  votre  \\e.  : 
La  coupe  des  grandeurs,  qu^le  vulgaire  envie, 

Brille  dans  votre  main  : 
Mais  au  concert  joyeux  de  la  fete  ephemere, 
Se  mele  le  cri  sourd  du  tigre  populaire 

Qui  vous  attend  demain. 


THE  FEAST  OF  FREEDOM. 

To  the  Kings  of  Europe. 

"There  existed  at  Rome  an  ancient  custom  :  prisoners  condemned  to  die,  on  the  eve  of 
their  execution  were  treated  to  a  public  banquet,  in  the  porch  of  the  prison— a  ceremony 
called  the  '  CctNA  Libera.'  " — Chateaubriand,  Les  Martyrs. 

When  the  Christians  were  doom'd  to  the  lions  of  old 
By  the  priest  and  the  praetor  combined  to  uphold 

An  idolatrous  cause. 
Forth  they  came,  while  the  vast  colosseum  throughout 
Gather'd  thousands  look'd  on,  and  they  fell  'mid  the  shout 

Of  ' '  t/ie  people's  "  r.pplause. 

On  the  eve  of  that  day,  of  their  evenings  the  last  !  I 

At  the  gates  of  their  dungeon  a  gorgeous  repast, 

Rich,  unstinted,  unpriced. 
That  the  doom'd  might  (forsooth  !)  gather  strength  ere  they  bled, 
With  an  ignorant  pity  their  gaolers  would  spread 

For  the  martyrs  of  Christ. 

Oh  !  'twas  strange  for  a  pupil  of  Paul  to  recline 
On  voluptuous  couch,  while  Falemian  wine 

Fill'd  his  cup  to  the  brim  ! 
iJulcet  music  of  Greece,  Asiatic  repose, 
Spicy  fragrance  of  Araby,  Italy's  rose. 

All  united  for  him  ! 

Every  luxury  known  through  the  earth's  wide  expanse, 
In  profusion  procured,  was  put  forth  to  enhance 

The  repast  that  they  gave  ; 
And  no  Sybarite,  nursed  in  the  lap  of  delight, 
Such  a  banquet  e'er  tasted  as  welcomed  that  night 

'I  he  elect  of  the  grave. 


And  the  lion,  meantime,  shook  his  ponderous  chain  ; 

Loud  and*  fierce  howl'd  the  tiger,  impatient  to  stain 
The  bloodthirsty  arena  : 

V/hile  the  women  of  Rome,  who  applauded  those  deeds, 
j  And  who  hail'd  the  forthcoming  enjoyment,  must  needs 

1  Shame  the  ruthless  hyena. 

■1 

•  They  who  figured  as  guests  on  that  ultimate  eve, 

\  In  their  turn  on  the  morrow  were  destined  to  give 

j  To  the  lions  their  food  ; 

'  For  behold,  in  the  guise  of  a  slave  at  that  board, 

\\'hare  his  victims  enjoy 'd  all  that  life  can  afford, 
Death  administering  stood. 

Such,  O  monarchs  of  earth  !  was  your  banquet  of  power 
But  the  tocsin  has  burst  on  your  festival  hour — 
I  'Tis  your  knell  that  it  rings  ! 

j  To    THE   POPULAR    TIGER    A    PSEY    IS    DECREED, 

j  And  the  imaw  of  Republican  hunger  will  feed 

{  On  a  banquet  of  kings  I 


3o8  The   Works  of  Father  Prout. 


XVL 

{Frasers  Magazine,  August,  1835.) 

[This  learned  and  curiously  discursive  dissertation — the  first  of  a  triad — was  contributed 
by  Mahony  to  the  number  of  Regina  in  which  appeared  Maclise's  commemorative 
sketch  of  Henry  O'Brien,  author  of  the  ''  Round  Towers  of  Ireland."  The  grateful 
tribute  accompanying  it  in  the  letterpress,  though  ostensibly  from  the  hand  which  usually 
held  the  pen  lor  those  jottings  down  in  the  Gallery — meaning  that  of  Maginn— was  in 
reality  from  the  hand  and  heart  of  the  good  father  of  Watergrasshill.  Confronting  the 
forty-fifth  stanza  ofVida's  "Silkworm,"  in  the  first  edition  of  the  "Reliques,"  that  of  1836, 
appeared  young  Croquis'  exquisite  dtelineation  of  the  "  Robing  of  Venus,"  the  audacity 
of  the  undulating  lines  of  beauty  in  which  would  not  only  have  justified  Hogarth's  theor>', 
could  the  master  painter  only  have  beheld  them  in  prevision,  but  would  for  certain,  while 
so  doing,  have  fairly  captivated  his  admiration.] 


CHAPTER   I.— The  Silkworm  :  A  Poem. 
By  JEROME   VIDA. 

"Ecco  Alessandro  il  mio  signor  Famese  ; 
O  dotta  compagnia  che  seco  mena  ! 
Blosio,  Pierio,  e  V'ida  Cremonese 
D'alta  facondia  inessicabil  vena." 

Ariosto,  Orl.  Fur.,  cant,  ult.,  st.  xiii. 

"  Immortal  Vida  !  on  whose  honour 'd  brow 
The  poet's  bays  and  critic's  ivy  grow." 

Pope's  Essay  on  Criticism. 

At  the  southern  extremity  of  the  French  metropolis  there  heth  an  extensive 
burying-ground,  which  rejoiceth  (if  any  such  lugubrious  concern  can  be  said 
to  rejoice)  in  the  name  of  "  Cimetiere  du  Mont  Farnasse."  Some  Cockney 
tourists  have  had  the  curiosity  to  visit  this  Parnassian  graveyard,  under  the  im- 
pression that  it  was  a  kind  of  Galilean  "  Poets'  Corner,"  a  sort  of  sepulchral 
"  limbo,"  set  apart  for  the  deceased  children  of  the  Muse,  in  the  same  national 
spirit  that  raised  the  "Hotel  des  Invalides,"  and  inscribed  on  the  church  of 
Sie.  Genevieve,  or  "  Pantheon  "  (where  Marat  and  Mirabeau  and  Voltaire  were 
entombed),  that  lapidary  lampoon,  "Aux  grands  homvics  la  patrie  reconnais- 
santc."  No  such  object,  however,  appears  to  have  been  contemplated  by  the  f 
municipal  authorities  of  Paris,  when  they  inclosed  the  funereal  field  thus  » 
whimsically  designated.  1 


A   Series  of  Moderfi  Latin  Poets.  309 

A  collection  of  poetical  effusions  in  any  one  of  the  dead  languages  would, 
we  apprehend,  considering  the  present  state  and  prospects  of  literature,  turn 
out  to  be,  in  the  gloomiest  sense  of  the  word,  a  grave  undertaking.  Hebrew, 
Greek,  Latin,  and  ^^nglo-Saxon,  are  truly  and  really  dead,  defunct,  mute, 
unspoken. 

"  Monsieur  ]Malbrook  est  mort,  est  mort  et  enterre." 

Hebrew  is  dead,  and  no  mistake  !^the  Wandering  Jew  must  have  found  that 
out  long  since.  We  venture  to  affirm  that  Salathiel  (who,  according  to  Croly, 
lurks  about  the  synagogue  in  St.  Albans  Place)  has  often  laughed  at  the  shcvas 
of  our  modern  Rabbim,  and  at  those  pothooks  "with  points"  which  are 
hawked  about  among  the  learned  as  copies  of  the  original  Hebrew  Scriptures. 
As  to  the  idioms  of  King  Alfred,  the  venerable  Bede,  or  Queen  Boadicea,  how 
few  of  our  literati  are  conversant  therein  or  cognizant  thereof!  Kemble, 
Wright,  and  Lingard  [pauci  quos  cequus  amavit  yiipitcr),  enjoy  an  undisturbed 
monopoly  of  Anglo-Saxon. — Greek  exhibits  but  few  symptoms  of  vitality;  no 
Barnes,  no  Porson,  no  W'olff,  grace  these  degenerate  days  :  nay,  the  mitre 
seems  to  have  acted  as  an  extinguisher  on  the  solitary  light  of  Blomfield. 
Oxford  hath  now  nothing  in  common  with  the  Bo<r0opos  but  the  name,  and  the 
groves  of  Cam  have  ceased  to  be  those  of  Academus.  Things  are  not  much 
better  on  the  Continent.  While  Buonaparte  from  the  rock  of  St.  Helena  still 
threatened  Europe,  we  recollect,  in  a  provincial  city  of  France,  a  candidate  for 
the  office  of  town  librarian  who  was  outvoted  by  an  ignorant  competitor,  and, 
on  inquiry,  found  that  many  of  the  royalist  constituency,  hearing  of  his  being 
an  ardent  ''Hellenist,"  nor  dreaming  that  the  term  could  bear  any  other  inter- 
pretation, had  fancied  him  a  very  dangerous  character  indeed.  Latin  is  still 
the  language  of  the  Romish  liturgy,  and  consequently  may  have  some  claim  to 
rank,  if  not  as  a  hving  tongue,  at  least  as  one  half-alive  :  "  defunct  us  adhuc 
loquitur."  Though,  in  sober  truth,  if  we  are  to  judge  from  the  quantity  of 
dog-Latin  afloat  in  that  quarter,  we  should  be  inclined  to  say  that  the  tongue 
of  Cicero  had  long  since  gone  to  the  dogs. 

We  are  tempted,  however,  to  try  an  experiment  on  these  "unknown 
tongues,"  and  to  essay  on  them  the  effects  of  that  galvanic  process  which  is 
known  to  be  so  successful  in  the  case  of  a  dead  frog.  We  open  the  under- 
taking with  a  name  that  may  give  assurance  to  our  first  attempt,  and  prevent 
uncharitable  folks  from  applying  to  our  operations  the  old  surgical  sarcasm  of 
experimentum  iti  aniinCi  viii.  The  beautiful  poem  of  Vida  shall  fitly  introduce 
our  series,  and  usher  in  these  "  modern  instances  "  of  lively  composition—  lively 
even  in  a  dead  language.  It  will  soon  be  seen  whether  Prout  can  be  allowed 
by  the  local  authorities  to  carry  on  the  trade  of  resurrectionist  in  the  Citnetiere 
du  Mont  Parriasse.  If  the  "  subjects  he  has  disinterred"  be  not  found  fresh 
enough  for  the  purposes  of  critical  dissection,  still  we  do  not  despair  ;  something 
may  be  made  of  the  most  thin  and  meagre  anatomies,  and  a  good  price  is 
occasionally  got  for  a  skeleton.  Prout  gives  them  such  as  he  has  dug  them  up. 
The  hermit  of  Watergrasshill  never  pretended  to  enjoy  the  faculty  of  old 
Ezekiel — to  clothe  with  substantial  flesh  the  dry  frame-work,  the  ''disjecta 
w^»z<?;-rt',"  the  poetical  bones  scattered  over  the  vale  of  Tempe ;  though  such 
miraculous  gift  might  find  full  scope  for  its  exercise  in  the  Golgotha  of  Par- 
nassus. "  And  behold,  there  were  very  many  bones  in  the  open  valley,  and  lo  ! 
they  zvere  very  dry." — Ezekiel,  xxxvii.  2, 

We  had  first  decided  on  calling  this  new  batch  of  Prout  Papers  a  "modern 
Latin  anthology,"  but,  on  reflection,  we  have  discarded  that  commonplace 
title  ;  the  term  anthology  bearing  obvious  reference  to  a  still  blooming  flower- 
garden,  and  being  far  too  fresh  and  gay  a  conceit  for  our  purpose.  Prefixed  to 
a  poetic  miscellany  in  any  of  the  living  tongues,  it  might  pass  and  be  deemed 
suitable ;  applied  to  Latin  or  Greek,  it  would  be  a  palpable  misnomer.     Dried 


3IO  Tlic  Works  of  Father  Front. 


plants,  preserved  specimens,  and  shrivelled  exotics,  may  perhaps  make  up  a 
hortus  siccus  :  they  cannot  be  said  to  form  a  garland  or  a  nosegay. 

Defunct  dialects  have  one  great  advantage,  however,  over  living  languages. 
These  latter  are  fickle  and  perpetually  changing  (like  the  sex),  varium  et  niuta- 
bile:  whereas  the  former,  like  old  family  portraits,  are  fixed  in  form,  feature, 
and  expression.  Flesh  and  blood,  confessedly,  have  not  the  durability  of  a 
marble  bust ;  the  parlance  of  the  ancients  is  effectually  petrified.  There  is 
nothing  "  movable"  in  the  "characters  "  of  Greek  and  Latin  phraseology:  all 
is  stereotype.  It  is  pleasant  to  compose  in  an  idiom  of  which  every  word  is 
long  since  canonized,  and  has  taken  its  allotted  place  equally  beyond  the  reach 
of  vulgarism  and  the  fear  of  vicissitude.  Poor  Geoffrey  Chaucer  knows  to  his 
cost  the  miseries  attendant  on  the  use  of  an  obsolete  vocabulary.  Some  modern 
journeyman  has  found  it  expedient  to  dislocate  all  his  joints,  under  a  pretext 
that  his  gait  was  awkward  :  to  rejuvenate  the  old  fellow,  it  was  thought  best  to 
take  him  to  pieces  on  the  plan  of  those  Greek  children  who  boiled  their  grand- 
father in  a  magic  cauldron,  and,  as  might  be  expected,  found  "death  in  the 
pot."  Who  can  now  relish  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  or  sigh  with  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
or  sing  the  merry  ballads  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  whose  popular  poems  graced 
the  dawn  of  metrical  composition  in  England  ?    Alas  ! 

"  Every  wave  that  we  danced  on  at  morning  ebbs  from  us, 
And  leaves  us  at  eve  on  the  cold  beach  alo.ie  " 

O'Doherty,  in  his  younger  days,  deeply  pondering  on  the  fleeting  nature  of 
the  beauties"^  of  modem  compositions,  and  the  frail  and  transitory  essence  of  all 
living  forms  of  speech,  had  a  notion  of  rescuing  these  charming  things  from 
inevitable  decay,  and  announced  himself  to  the  public  as  a  poetical  embalmer. 
He  printed  a  proposal  for  wrapping  up  in  the  imperishable  folds  of  Greek  and 
Latin,  with  sundry  spices  of  his  own,  the  songs  and  ballads  of  these  islands  ; 
which,  in  a  few  centuries,  will  be  unintelligible  to  posterity.  He  had  already 
commenced  operating  on  "  Black-eyed  Susan,"  and  had  cleverly  disembowelled 
"Alley  Croaker;  "  both  of  which  made  excellent  classic  mummies.  "  Wapping 
Old  Stairs,"  in  his  Latin  translation,  seemed  to  be  the  veritable  "Gradus  ad 
Parnassum;"  and  his  Greek  version  of  "'Twas  in  Trafalgar  Bay"  beat  all 
.^schylus  ever  sung  about  Salamis.  What  became  of  the  project,  and  why  Sir 
Morgan  gave  it  up,  we  cannot  tell  :  he  is  an  unaccountable  character.  But 
while  we  regret  this  embalming  plan  should  have  been  abandoned,  we  are 
free  to  confess  that,  in  our  opinion,  "Old  King  Cole,"  in  Hebrew,  was  his 
best  effort.     It  was  equal  to  Solomon  in  all  his  glorj'. 

These  prolegomena  have  led  us  in  a  somewhat  zigzag  path  far  away  from  our 
starting-point,  which,  on  looking  back,  we  find  to  be  Jerome  Vida's  poem  of 
the  "  Silkworm."  From  a  memorandum  in  the  chest,  we  learn  that  Prout  was 
induced  to  undertake  this  translation  in  the  year  1825,  when  400,000  mulberry- 
trees  were  planted  on  the  Kingston  estates  by  what  was  called  "  the  Irish  Silk 
Cohipany,"  with  a  view  to  "  better  the  condition  of  the  peasantry  in  the  south 
of  Ireland."  That  scheme,  somewhat  similar  to  the  lottery  humbug  lately  got  up 
by  Messrs.  Bish  and  O'Connell,  produced  in  its  day  what  is  sought  to  be  again 
effected  by  designing  scrundrels  now— it  created  a  temporary  mystification, 
and  staved  off  the  en.\Cjment  of  poor-l.wvs  for  the  season.  Prout  early 
discovered  the  hollow  treachery  of  all  these  projects,  and  locked  up  his  MS.  in 
disgust.  He  seems,  however,  to  have  reperused  the  poem  shortly  before  his 
death  ;  but  the  recollection  of  so  many  previous  attempts  at  delusion,  and  the 
persevering  profligacy  with  which  the  dismal  farce  is  renewed,  seems  to  have  so 
strongly  roused  his  indignant  energies,  that,  if  we  decipher  right  the  crossings 
in  red  letters  on  the  last  page,  this  aged  clergyman,  deeming  it  an  act  of  virtue 
to  feel  intense  liatred  for  the  whole  of  the^  selfish  crew  that  thrives  on  Irish 


A   Series  of  Modern  Latin  Poets,  311 

starvation,  has  laid  his  dying  curse  on  the  heads,  individually  and  collectively, 
of  Lord  Limerick,  Spring  Rice,  and  Daniel  O'Connell. 

Oliver  Yorke. 


Watergrasshill,  May,  1825. 

When  at  the  revival  of  letters  the  beauties  of  ancient  literature  burst  on  the 
modern  mind,  and  revealed  a  new  world  to  the  human  intellect,  the  first  impulse 
of  all  who  had  the  luck  to  be  initiated  in  the  mysteries  of  classic  taste,  was  to 
model  their  thoughts  and  expressions  on  these  newly-discovered  originals,  and, 
like  Saul  among  the  prophets,  to  catch  with  the  very  language  of  inspiration  a 
more  exalted  range  of  feelings  and  a  strain  of  loftier  sentiment.  The  literati  of 
Europe  conversed  in  Latin  and  corresponded  in  Greek.  It  had  not  yet  entered 
into  their  heads  that  the  rude  materials  of  Italian,  French,  and  English,  might 
be  wrought  up  into  forms  of  as  exquisite  perfection  as  they  then  possessed  in 
the  remnants  of  classic  eloquence  and  poetry.  They  despaired  of  making  a 
silken  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear.  The  example  of  Dante  and  Petrarch  had  not 
emboldened  them  :  the  latter,  indeed,  always  considered  his  Latin  poem, 
written  on  the  second  Punic  war,  and  entitled  "Africa,"  as  much  more  likely 
to  ensure  him  permanent  renown  than  his  sonnets  or  canzoni  ;  and  the  former 
had  to  struggle  with  his  own  misgivings  long  and  seriously  ere  he  decided  on  not 
trusting  his  "  Comsedia"  to  the  custody  of  Latin.  Ariosto  has  left  two  volumes 
of  Latin  poetry.  It  was  deemed  a  hazardous  experiment  to  embark  intellectual 
capital  on  the'mere  security  of  a  \-ulgar  tongiie  ;  and  to  sink  the  riches  of  the 
mind  in  so  depreciated  a  concern  was  thought  a  most  unprofitable  investment. 
Hence  genius  was  expended  on  what  appeared  the  more  solid  speculation,  and 
no  others  but  Greek  and  Latin  script  a  were  "quoted  '"  in  the  market  of  litera- 
ture. All  this  "  paper  "  has  wofully  fallen  in  value  :  I  see  little  prospect  of  its 
ever  again  looking  up. 

Lord  Bacon  and  Leibnitz,  Xewton,  Grotius,  and  :Milton,  long  after  modem 
languages  had  become  well  established  as  vehicles  of  valuable  thought,  still 
adhered  to  the  safer  side,  and  thus  secured  to  their  writings  European  perusal. 
An  Universal  Language,  a  General  Pacification,  and  a  Common  Agreement 
among  Christian  sects,  were  three  favourite  day-dreams  of  Leibnitz  ;  but,  alas  ! 
each  of  these  projects  seems  as  far  as  ever  removed  from  any  prospect  of  reali- 
zation. Latin,  however,  may,  in  some  sense,  be  considered  the  idiom  most 
universally  spread  throughout  the  republic  of  letters.  The  Roman  empire  and 
the  Roman  church,  by  a  combined  effort,  have  brought  about  this  result  ;  and 
Virgil  seems  to  have  a  prophetic  vision  of  both  these  majestic  agents  actively 
engaged  in  the  dissemination  of  his  poetrj',  when  he  promises  immortality  to 
Nisus  and  Euryalus  : 

"  Fortunati  ambo  !  si  quid  mea  carmina  possunt 
Nulla  dies  unquam  memori  vos  eximet  sevo 
Dum  dojuns  /E^iece  capitoli  immobile  saxum  _ 
Accolet,  imperiumque  Paicr  Roinanus  habebit." 

If  by  dotnJis  ^nece  he  mean  the  dynasty  of  the  Caesars,  the  Pater  Romanus 
must  allude  to  the  popes;  and  Leo'X.  was  probably  in  his  mind's  eye  when  he 
made  this  vaticination. 

To  excel  in-  Latin  poetry  was,  under  that  golden  pontificate,  a  favourite 
accomplishment.  Vida  and  Sanazar,  Bembo  and  Fracastor,  cultivated  with 
success  this  branch  of  the  humanities  in  Italy.  The  reformer  Theodore  Beza 
was  a  distinguished  Latin  poet  at  Geneva,  though,  in  the  selection  of  some  of 
his  subjects,  he  shows  a  taste  rather  akin  to  that  of  our  own  Theodore  Hook 


312  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

than  marked  by  any  evangelical  tendency.  The  Jesuits,  while  they  upheld  the 
papal  empire,  powerfully  contributed  also  to  enlarge  the  dominions  of  the 
Roman  muse;  and  Caslmir  Sarbievi,  Rapin,  Vaniere,  and  Sidronius,  were  at 
one  time  the  admiration  of  all  European  academies.  Buchanan  is  far  better 
known  abroad  by  his  cannina  than  by  his  Scotch  history ;  and  the  Latin 
poems  of  Addison,  Milton,  Parnell,  with  those  of  that  witty  Welshman, 
Owenus  (not  to  speak  of  the  numerous  Musce  AnglicancE,  Miiscc  Etonenscs, 
&c.  &c.),  have  fully  established  our  character  for  versification  on  the  continent. 
It  is  not  sutTiciently  known,  that  the  celebrated  poem  "  De  Connubiis  Floruni," 
which  gave  the  hint  of  the  "Loves  of  the  Plants,"  *  and  of  Darwin's  "Botanic 
Garden,"  was,  in  fact,  the  production  of  an  Irishman,  who,  under  the  name  of 
Demetrius  de  la  Croix,  published  it  at  Paris  in  1727.  He  was  from  Kerry, 
and  his  real  patronymic  was  Diarmid  M'Encroe  ;t  though,  hke  his  immortal 
countryman,  Diiniish  Lardner,  he  exchanged  that  for  a  more  euphonous  apel- 
lation.'  Scotland's  illustrious  son,  the  "admirable"  Crichton,  whose  brilliant 
career  and  character  should,  one  would  imagine,  have  attracted  the  notice  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  they  being  wonderfully  susceptible  of  historico-romantic 
development,;]:  possessed,  among  other  singular  accomplishments,  the  faculty 
of  extemporizing 'Wi  Latin  verse ;  and  on  one  occasion,  before  the  assembled 
literati  of  Mantua,  having  previously  dazzled  his  auditory  with  a  display  of 
philosophy,  mathematics,  divinity,  and  eloquence,  he  wound  up  the  day's  pro- 
ceedings by  reciting  a  whole  poem,  on  a  subject  furnished  by  his  antagonist, 
and  dismissed  the  astonished  crowd  in  raptures  with  his  unpremeditated  song. 
Thomas  Dempsterus,  another  native  of  "that  ilk,"  won  his  laurels  in  this 
department  of  composition  ;  as  did  William  Lilly  the  grammarian,  and 
Thoinas  Morus  the  chancellor,  in  England.  In  Holland,  Johatnies  Secianius 
gained  renown  by. his  "  Basia  ;"  Hugo,  by  his  "  Pia  Desideria;"  not  to  mention 
Daniel  Heinsius  and  Boxhorn.  In  Spain,  Arias  Aloiita/iiis,  so  well  known  by 
his  edition  of  the  Hebrew  Bible,  was  not  inelegant  as  a  Latin  versifier. 
Cardinal  Barberini  (afterwards  Pope  Urban  VIll.)  ranks  high  among  the 
favoured  of  the  muse  :  the  Oxford  edition  of  his  poems  (e  typis  Clarendon, 
1726)  lies  now  before  me.  Ang.  Politian,  Scaliger  and  Sfondrat  (De  raptii 
Helence)  should  not  be  omitted  in  the  nomenclature  of  glory  :  neither  should 
the  Jesuit  Maffeus,  who  recited  his  daily  breviary  in  Greek,  lest  the  low 
language  of  our  liturgy  might  corrupt  the  pure  Latinity  of  his  style  ;  and  who, 
deeming  the  epic  action  of  Virgil'spoem  incomplete,  has  written  a  thirteenth  ( ! ) 
canto  for  the  ".^neid."  But  of  all  who  at  the  restoration  of  classic  learning 
trod  in  the  footsteps  of  Horace  and  Virgil,  none  came  so  close  to  these  great 
masters  as  Jerome  Vida  ;  and  the  encomium  which  Pope  takes  every  oppor- 
tunity of  passing  on  his  style  of  excellence  is  not  undeserved  : 

*'  But  see  !  each  muse  in  Leo's  golden  days 

Starts  from  her  trance  and  trims  her  wither'd  bays, 
Rome's  ancient  Genius  o'er  the  ruins  spread, 
Shakes  off  the  dust,  and  rears  its  reverend  head. 

Then  Sculpture  and  her  sister  arts  revive  ; 
Stones  leap  to  form,  and  rocks  begin  to  live  ; 
With  sweeter  notes  each  rising  temple  rung, 
A  Raphael  painted,  and  a  Vida  sung." 

The  author  of  the  "  Essay  on  Criticism"  has  more  than  once  dwelt  with 
evident  complacency  on  the  merits  of  Vida;  but  it  was  by  largely  borrowing 

•  These,  in  their  turn,  produced  the  "  Loves  of  the  Triangles,"  in  the  Anti- Jacobin. 

\  See  "  Botanicon  Parisiense"  of  Levaillant.  edit,  by  Koerhave,  p.    3. 

±  We  are  glad  to  find  that  the  author  of  "  Rookwood  "  has  taken  up  the  cudgels  for  this 
neglected  Scot.  We  anticipate  a  romance  in  the  true  con  spirito  style  already  employed 
so  felicitously  in  the  case  of  the  "admirable"  Turpin. 

J 


A  Series  of  Modefii  Latin  Poets.  313 

from  his  writings  (as  also  in  the  case  of  Boileau)  that  he  principally  manifested 
his  esteem  and  predilection.  The  celebrated  hnes  on  adapting  the  sotmd  to 
the  sense, 

' '  Soft  is  the  strain  when  zephyr,"  &c. , 

are  a  nearly  literal  translation  of  a  passage  in  our  Italian  bishop's  poem,  "  De 
Arte  Poetica  : "  a  fact  which  Pope  has  had  the  candour  to  indicate  in  a  note  in 
the  early  editions : 

"Turn  si  Ista  canunt  hilari  quoque  carmina  vultu,"  &c. 

Lib.  iii.  v.  403. 

But  a  more  flagrant  instance  of  unacknowledged  plagiarism  occurs  in  the  ' '  Rape 
of  the  Lock,  where  card-playing  being  introduced  (canto  the  third),  not  only 
is  the  style  and  conduct  of  the  Cartesian  narrative  borrowed  from  Vida's 
"Schacc'hia  Ludus,  '  or  "Game  of  Chess,"  but  whole  similes  are  unhesitatingly 
appropriated  by  his  English  imitator.  These  are  sometimes  awkwardly  enough 
— ludicrously,  need  I  add? — compelled  "  a  double  debt  to  pay,"  being  applied 
to  the  party  at  *' ombre,"  and  lose  much  of  their  original  grace  by  the  transfer. 
Ex.  grati'X : 

Pope. 

•'  Clubs,  diamonds,  hearts,  in  wild  disorder  seen. 
With  throngs  promiscuous  strew  the  level  green  \ 
Thus  when  dispersed  a  routed  army  runs. 
Of  Asia's  troops  and  Afric's  sable  sons, 
With  like  confusion  different  nations  fly,  • 

Of  various  habit  and  of  various  dye  : 
The  fierce  battalions  disunited  fall 
In  heaps  on  heaps — one  fate  awaits  them  aU." 

VlD.\. 

**  Non  aliter  campis  legio  se  hixeci  utrinque 
Composuit  duplici  digestis  ordine  turmis, 
Adversisqiie  ambse  fulsere  coloribits  alae 
Quam  gallorum  acies  alpino  frigore  lactea. 
Corpora,  si  tendunt  albis  in  praelia  signis 
Auroras  populos  contra  et  Phaetonte  perustos, 
Insuper  itthiopas  et  nigri  Memnonis  agmen." 

Schacchia,  c.  i.  v.  80. 

Vida  himself  was  addicted  to  copying  Mrgil  in  rather  too  close  a  fashion, 
and  in  his  poetics  he  candidly  confesses  the  manner  in  which  he  went  to  work, 
giving  advice  to  all  future  marauders  in  the  same  line.  The  precept  and  the 
example  are  both  contained  in  the  following  ingenious  verses  : 

"  Cum  Vero  cultis  moliris  furta  poetis 

Cautius  ingredere  et  raptus  memor  occule  versis, 
Verbonan  indiciis  atque  ordine  falle  legentes." 

Lib.  iii.  220. 

The  robber  Cacus  having  been  described  by  Virgil  as  eluding  the  pursuit  of 
the  shepherds,  whose  cattle  he  had  abstracted  by  dragging  the  animals  back- 
ward by  the  tail,  and  thus  inz'erting  the  foot-tracks  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
his  den  : 

"  Cauda  in  speluncam  tractos  versisque  viartan 
Indiciis  raptos  saxo  occultabat  opaco." 

^neid,  lib.  viii. 

N 


314  TJie  Works  of  Father  Prout. 

This  work  (Poeiicor?im  libri  ires)  may  be  well  considered  as  a  standard 
production,  and  cannot  be  too  sedulously  recommended  to  the  frequenters  of 
our  universities.  It  is  dedicated  to  tlie  children  of  Francis  I.  (then  detained 
as  hostages  for  their  father  at  Madrid),  and  is  evidently  intended  for  youthful 
perusal.  As  a  treatise  embodying,  in  eloquent  language  and  terse  versification, 
the  canons  of  poetical  criticism,  this  work  of  Vida  is  wonderful  for  the  time 
in  w  hich  he  lived,  and  produced  a  most  salutary  effect  in  the  forming  of  a  pure 
and  classic  taste  among  the  contemporary  writers.  Scaliger  has  quoted  with 
admiration  tlie  following  lines,  in  which  the  young  poet  is  described  pruning 
down  the  redundancy  of  his  juvenile  ideas  into  proper  trim  : 

"  Turn  retractat  opus,  commissa  piacula  doctae 
Palladis  arte  luens,  nunc  haec,  nunc  rejicit  ilia, 
Omnia  tuta  timens  melioraque  sufficit  illis  ; 
Attonditque  comas  stringens,  sylvamque  fluentem 
Luxuriemque  minutatim  depascit  inanem; 
Exercens  durum  imperium,  dum  funditus  omnem, 
Nocturnis  instans  operis  operisque  diumis, 
Versibus  eluerit  labem  et  commissa  piarit." 


Vida  was  born  at  Cremona,  in  1480.  After  going  through  his  collegiate  j. 
course  with  distinction  at  the  universities  of  Padua  and  Bologna,  we  find  him,  . 
at  the  accession  of  Leo  X.  to  the  pontifical  throne,  a  resident  canon  at  the  [ 
church  of  St.  John  Lateran.  His  brilliant  acquirements  were  not  long  in  ', 
attracting  the  notice  of  the  Roman  court,  of  which  he  at  once  became  the  j 
delight  and  ornament.  Familiar  with  all  the  branches  of  contemporary  learn-  f 
ing,  his  peculiai;  e.xcellence  as  a  Latin  poet  pointed  him  out  to  Leo  as  the  fittest  | 
person  to  execute  a  project  which  that  prince  had  long  wished  to  see  realized,  \ 
viz.  a  grand  epic  poem,  of  which  the  establishment  of  Christianity  was  to 
furnish  the  theme,  and  Virgil's  " /Eneid  "  the  model.  Vida  had  too  mucli 
sagacity  and  too  delicate  a  taste  not  to  perceive  at  once  the  utter  hopelessness 
of  creating  anything  worthy  of  the  proposed  subject  in  avowed  imitation  of 
that  all-accomplished  original  ;  and,  though  a  perfect  master  of  all  the 
resources  of  language  and  art,  he  still  felt  that  it  would  require  a  greater 
genius  than  that  of  the  Mantuan  bard  himself  to  achieve,  with  the  severe 
materials  of  the  Gospel,  an  imaginative  epic  such  as  the  pontiff  had  in  con- 
templation. The  wishes  of  his  illustrious  patron,  however,  could  not  well  be 
disregarded  ;  especially  when  the  request  came  accompanied  with  the  gift  of  a 
rich  priory  (that  of  St.  Silvester,  at  Tusculum),  to  enable  the  poet  to  compose 
at  leisure  in  that  classic  spot  the  work  in  question.  The  result  of  his  Tusculan 
meditations  on  the  Christian  epopcca,  was  not  published  till  afier  the  death  of 
its  pontifical  projector,  and  then  appeared  "  Christiados,  libri  XII.  ;"  a  poem, 
no  doubt,  of  considerable  merit,  but  which  was  far  from  realizing  the  beau 
idial  oi  z.  "religious  epic,"  that  glorious  consummation  being  reserved  for 
John  Milton.  The  comparison  with  the  "  yEneid  "  was  fatal  to  itssuccess;  and 
by  too  closely  approaching  liis  professed  prototype,  Vida  enfeebled  his  own 
native  powers.  This  unfortunate  juxtaposition  might,  perhaps,  warrant  us  in 
exclaiming  with  the  shepherd  in  the  "  Eclogue  :" 

"  Mantua  !  vai  miserae  nimium  vicina  Cremona: ! " 

Clement  VIII.,  however,  rewarded  the  bard  with  a  bishopric:  Vida  was 
promoted  to  the  see  of  Alba.  In  him  the  episcopal  character  did  not 
neutralize  the  inspirations  of  tiie  muse  ;  nor,  though  wedded  to  his  diocesan 
spouse,  did  he  repudiate  the  ancillary  graces  of  elegant  scholarship.  While 
he  sedulously  watched  on  the  plains  of  Lombardy  over  the  spiritual  interests 
of  his  Christian  flock,  he  did  not  neglect  his  poetical  attributions  as  a 
shepherd  of  Arcadia.     The  little  town  of  Alba,  on  the  Tenaro,  will  be  ever 


-J  ^ 


A   Series  of  Modern  Latin  Poets.  315 

held  honourable  as  the  residence  of  this  distinguished  poet  and  exemplar)'  pre- 
late :  his  memory  has  been  long  and  justly  by  the  albani  paircs  cherished. 
To  him  the  inhabitants  were  indebted,  on  one  occasion,  for  protection  against 
a  French  army,  and  for  subsistence  during  a  famine.  His  brave  and  deter- 
mined conduct  in  the  town's  defence  at  that  crisis  is  highly  eulogized  by  the 
historian  Paul  Jovio.  Than  Vida  no  more  distinguished  prelate  sat  at  the 
Council  of  Trent,  if  good  sense  and  good  taste,  learning,  and  hberality,  could 
distinguish  a  member  of  that  assembly.  He  lived  to  be  near  a  hundred  years 
old  (thirty  of  which  were  spent  in  discharging  the  functions  of  episcopacy), 
and  died  in  the  sentiments  of  unaffected  piety  which  animated  his  whole  life'. 

Such  is  the  personage  from  whose  mmierous  poems  I  am  about  to  select  one 
by  way  of  specimen,  and  I  am  willingly  guided  in  my  choice  by  circumstances 
of  a  local  nature.  The  introduction  of  silkworms  into  this  district,  as 
calculated  to  afford  industrious  occupation  to  the  Munster  peasantrv,  has 
engaged  my  most  ardent  wishes  for  the  successful  result  of  so  philanthropic 
an  experiment ;  and  I  shall  feel  happy  if  Mda's  poem  ' '  De  Bombycibus"  can  be 
made  subservient  to  the  purposes  of  the  "Irish  Silk  Company."  I  greatly 
fear  that  the  habits  of  my  countrymen  (so  dissimilar  from  those  of  the  Itahan 
f>easantr>'  who  cultivate  this  delightful  branch  of  industrj-)  will  prove  an  insur- 
mountable obstacle  to  the  ultimate  and  permanent  estabhshment  of  the  thing 
in  the  county  of  Cork  ;  but  a  fair  trial  ought  to  be  given  to  the  worms. 

The  social  position  of  the  Irish  peasantry  is  radically  WTong ;  and  the  land 
of  their  birth,  teeming  as  it  is  with  plenty /c?/-  the  landlord,  might  as  well,  as 
far  as  they  are  concerned,  be  a  barren  wilderness.  To  all  the  nations  of  the 
habitable  globe,  to  all  the  children  of  earth— tijs  yrjs  ofK-ouuEfrj?,  the  soil  is  a 
common  parent,  on  whose  exuberance  all  ha\e  an  undoubted  claim  ;  and  aii, 
more  or  less,  have  "that  claim  allowed."  Not  so  here!  The  sun  that 
illumines  all  creation  shines  not  on  the  mere  Irish  ;  and  alma  mater  tdlus  is 
to  them  but  an  injusta  nozerca.  But  "let  that  pass."  The  subject  of  poor- 
laws,  and  the  conduct  of  those  who,  for  ven,'  palpable  piu^oses,  oppose  their 
enactment,  are  subjects  on  which  I  cannot  enter  with  a  steady  pulse.  I  shall 
lesene  my  views  for  a  more  serious  hour  ;  and  then,  if  deep  con\iction  can 
give  vigour  to  the  words  of  a  feeble  old  man — \i  facit  indignatio  versum,  I 
shall  do  justice  to  the  theme.     But  now  to  Vida. 

TPIE  SILKWORM. 
A  Poem. 

CANTO   FIRST. 
I. 

List  to  my  lay,  daughter  of  Lombardy  ! 

Hope  of  Gonzaga's  house,  fair  Isabelle  ! 
Graced  with  thy  name  the  simplest  melody 

Albeit  from  rural  pipe  or  rustic  shell, 

Might  all  the  music  of  a  court  excel  : 
Light  though  the  subject  of  my  song  may  seem, 

"Tis  one  on  which  th\-  sjSirit  loves  to  dwell ; 
Jyor  on  a  tiny  insect  dost  thou  deem 
Thy  poet's  labour  lost,  nor  frivolous  my  theme. 

IL 

For  thou  dost  often  meditate  how  hence 

Commerce  deriveth  aliment  ;  how  art 
May  minister  to  native  opulence. 

The  wealth  of  foreign  lands  to  home  impart, 

And  make  of  Italy  the  general  mart. 


3i6  The  Works  of  Father  ProiU. 


These  are  thy  goodly  thoughts  :  how  best  to  raise 

Thy  country's  industry.     A  patriot  heart 

Beats  in  thy  gentle  breast— no  vulgar  praise  ! 

Be  then  this  spinner-worm  the  hero  of  my  lays  ! 

III. 

Full  many  a  century  it  crept,  the  child 

Of  distant  China  or  the  torrid  zone  ; 
Wasted  its  web  upon  the  woodlands  wild, 

And  spun  its  golden  tissue  all  alone, 

Clothing  no  reptile's  body  but  its  own.* 
So  crawl'd  a  brother-worm  o'er  mount  and  glen, 

Uncivilized,  uncouth  ;  till,  social  grown, 
He  sought  the  cities  and  the  haunts  of  men — 
Science  and  art  soon  tamed  the  forest  denizen. 

IV. 

Rescued  from  woods,  now  under  friendly  roof 
Foster'd  and  fed,  and  shelter'd  from  the  blast, 

Full  soon  the  wondrous  wealth  of  warp  and  woof- 
Wealth  by  these  puny  labourers  amass 'd, 
Repaid  the  hand  that  spread  their  green  repast : 

Right  merrily  they  plied  their  jocund  toil. 

And  from  their  mouths  the  silken  treasures  cast, 

Twisting  their  canny  thread  in  many  a  coil, 
^Vhile  men  look'd  on  and  smiled,  and  hail'd  the  shining  spoiL 


Sweet  is  the  poet's  ministry  to  teach 
How  the  wee  operatives  should  be  fed  ; 

Their  wants  and  changes  :  what  befitteth  each  ; 
What  mysteries  attend  the  genial  bed. 
And  how  successive  progenies  are  bred. 

Happy  if  he  his  countrj-men  engage 

In  paths  of  peace  and  industry  to  tread  ; 

Happier  the  poet  still,  if  o'er  his  page 
Fair  Is.\bella's  een  shed  radiant  patronage  ! 

VI. 

Thou,  then,  who  wouldst  possess  a  creeping  flock 
Of  silken  sheep,  their  glossy  fleece  to  shear, 

Learn  of  their  days  how  scanty  is  the  stock  : 
Barely  two  months  of  each  recurring  year 
Make  up  the  measure  of  their  brief  career ; 

They  spin  their  little  hour,  they  weave  their  ball, 
And,  when  their  task  is  done,  then  disappear 

Within  that  silken  dome's  sepulchral  hall  ; 
And  the  third  moon  looks  out  upon  their  funeral. 

VII. 

Theirs  is,  in  truth,  a  melancholy  lot. 

Never  the  off"spring  of  their  loves  to  see  ! 

The  parent  of  a  thousand  sons  may  not 
Spectator  of  his  children's  gambols  be, 
Or  hail  the  birth  of  his  young  family. 

From  orphan-eggs,  fruit  of  a  fund  embrace. 
Spontaneous  hatch'd,  an  insect  tenantry 

Creep  forth,  their  sires  departed  to  replace  : 
Thus,  posthumously  born,  springs  up  an  annual  race. 

*  Tenui  nee  honos  nee  gloria  filo  ! 


i 


t 


A   Series  of  JModern  Latin  Poets. 


317 


I  VIII. 

3  Still  watchful  lest  their  birth  be  premature, 

J  From  the  sun's  wistful  eye  remove  the  seed, 

.  While  yet  the  season  wavers  insecure, 

I  WTiile  yet  no  leaves  have  budded  forth  to  feed 

I  With  juicy  provender  the  tender  breed  ; 

I  Nor  usher  beings  into  life  so  new 

Without  provision.     'Twere  a  cruel  deed  I 

I  Ah,  such  improvidence  men  often  rue  ! 

j  Tis  a  sad,  wicked  thing,  if  iSIalthus  telleth  true. 


IX. 

But  when  the  vernal  equinox  is  pass'd. 

And  the  gay  mulberry  in  gallant  trim 
Hath  robed  himself  in  verdant  vest  at  last 

('Tis  well  to  wait  until  thou  seest  him 

With  summer-garb  of  green  on  every  limb). 
Then  is  thy  time.     Be  cautious  still,  nor  risk 

The  enterprise  while  yet  the  moon  is  dim, 
Bui  tarry  till  she  hangeth  out  her  disc, 
Replenish'd  with  full  light ;  then  breed  thy  spinners  brisk. 


X. 

Methinks  that  here  some  gentle  maiden  begs 
To  know  how  best  this  genial  deed  is  done  : 

Some  on  a  napkin  strew  the  little  eggs, 
And  simply  hatch  their  silkworms  in  the  sun  \ 
But  there's  a  better  plan  to  fix  upon.* 

Wrapt  in  a  muslin  kerchief  pure  and  warm, 
Lay  them  within  thy  bosom  safe  ;  nor  shun 

Nature's  kind  office  till  the  tiny  swarm 
Begins  to  creep.     Fear  not ;  they  cannot  do  thee  harm. 


XI. 

Meantime  a  fitting  residence  prepare, 
VV'herein  thy  pigmy  artisans  may  dwell, 

And  furnish  forth  their  factory  with  care  : 
Of  season'd  timber  build  the  spinners'  cell, 
And  be  it  lit  and  ventilated  well ; 

And  range  them  upon  insulated  shelves. 
Rising  above  each  other  parallel. 

There  let  them  crawl — there  let  the  little  elves 
Oa  carpeting  of  leaf  gaily  disport  themselves. 


XII. 

And  be  their  house  impervious,  both  to  rain 
And  to  th'  inclemency  of  sudden  cold._ 

See  that  no  hungry  sparrow  entrance  gain, 
To  glut  his  maw  and  desolate  the  fold. 
Ranging  among  his  victims  uncontroU'd. 

Nay,  I  have  heard  that  once  a  wicked  hen 
Obtain'd  admittance  by  manoeuvTe  bold. 

Slaughtering  the  insects  in  their  little  den  : 
If  I  had  caught  her  there,  she  would  not  come  again. 

*  Tu  conde  sinu  velamine  tecta 

Nee  pudeat  roseas  inter  fovisse  papillas. 


3r8  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


XIII.   . 

Stop  up  each  crevice  in  the  silkworm-house. 
Each  gaping  orifice  be  sure  to  fill ; 

For  oftentimes  a  sacrilegious  mouse 
Will  fatal  inroad  make,  intent  on  ill, 
And  in  cold  blood  the  gentle  spinners  kilL* 

Ah,  cruel  wretch  I  whose  idol  is  thy  belly, 
The  blood  of  innocence  why  dost  thou  spill  ? 

Dost  thou  not  know  that  silk  is  in  that  jelly?  _ 
Go  forth,  and  seek  elsewhere  a  dish  of  vermicelli. 


XIV. 

When  thy  young  caterpillars  'gin  to  creep. 

Spread  them  with  care  upon  the  oaken  planks  ; 

And  let  them  learn  from  infancy  to  keep 

Their  proper  station,  and  preserve  their  ranks — 
Not  crawl  at  random,  playing  giddy  pranks. 

Let  them  be  taught  their  dignity,  nor  seek, 

Drsss'd  in  silk  gown,  to  act  like  mountebanks  : 

Thus  careful  to  eschew  each  vulgar  freak, 
Sober  they  maun  grow  up  industrious  and  meek. 


XV. 

Their  minds  kind  Nature  wisely  pre-arranged. 
And  of  domestic  habits  made  them  fond  : 

Rarely  they  roam  or  wish  their  dwelling  changed, 
Or  from  their  keeper's  vigilance  abscond  : 
Pleased  with  their  home,  they  travel  not  beyond. 

Else,  woe  is  me  I  it  were  a  bitter  potion 
To  hunt  each  truant  and  each  vagabond  ; 

Haply  of  such  attempts  they  have  no  notion. 
Nor  on  their  heads  is  seem  the  bump  of  locomotion. 


XVI. 

The  same  kind  Nature  i  who  doth  all  things  right) 
Their  .stomachs  hath  fro.m  infancy  imbued 

Straight  with  a  most  tremendous  appetite. 

And  till  the  leaf  rhey  love  is  oet  them  strew'd. 
Their  little  m  jr.tb.s  A^-a.-c  clamorous  for  food. 

Tor  thrir  first  biaujuetiivgs  this  plan  adopt — 
Cull  the  most  tender  Ifrr.ves  in  all  the  wood. 

And  let  ihem,  ere  upon  llie  wcirms  they're  dropp'd. 
Be  minced  fur  their  young  teeth,  and  diligently  chopp'd. 

.XVII. 

Pass'd  the  first  week,  an  epoch  will  begin, 
A  crisis  which  mrain  all  thy  care  engage  ; 

For  then  the  little  a.  p  will  cast  his  skin. 
Such  change  of  raiment  marks  each  separate  stage 
Of  childhood,  youth,  cf  manhood  and  old  age  : 

A  gentle  sleep  gi\es  token  when  he  means 
'I'o  dofT  his  coat  for  seemlier  equipage  ; 

Another  and  another  supervenes, 
And  then  he  is,  1  trow,  no  longer  in  his  teens. 

*  Improbus  irreptat  tabulis  sauvitque  per  omnes 
Ca:de  madens. 


A   Series  of  Modern  Latin  Poets.  3:9 


XV 11 1. 

Until  that  period,  it  importeth  much 

That  no  ungentle  hand,  with  C'.iuact  rude, 
Visit  the  shelves.     Let  the  deli-htful  touch 

Of  Italy's  fair  daughters— fair  and  good  !— 

Administer  alone  to  thai  young  brood. 
Pilaris,  how  von  maiden's  breast  with  pity  yearns, 

Tending  her  charge  with  fond  solicitude,  .   .   . 
Hers  be  the  blessing  ^he  so  richly  earns  ; 
Soon  may  she  see  her  owu  wee  brood  of  bonny  bau-ns  ! 

XIX. 

Foliage  fresh  gather'd  for  immediate  use, 

Be  the  green  pasture  of  thy  silken  sheep  ; 
For  when  ferments  the  vegetable  juice, 

They  loathe  the  leaves,  and  from  th'  untasted  heap 

With  disappointment  languishingly  creep. 
Hie  to  the  forest,  evening,  noon,  and  morn  ; 

Of  brimming  baskets  quick  succession  keep  ; 
Let  the  green  grove  for  them  be  freely  shorn. 
And  smiling  Plenty  void  her  well-replenish'd  horn. 

XX. 

Pleasant  the  murmur  of  their  mouths  to  hear. 

While  as  they  ply  the  plentiful  repast. 
The  dainty  leaves  demolish'd,  disappear 

One  after  one.     A  fresh  supply  is  cast ; 

That  like  the  former  vanisheth  as  fast. 
But,  cautious  of  repletion  (well  yclept 

The  fatal  fount  of  sickness),  cease  at  last ; 
Fling  no  more  food— their  fodder  intercept. 
And  be  it  laid  aside,  and  for  their  supper  kept. 

XXL 

To  gaze  upon  the  dew-drop's  glittering  gem, 

T  inhale  the  moisture  of  the  morning  air, 
Is  pleasantness  to  us  ; — 'tis  death  to  them.'"* 

Shepherd,  of  dank  humidity  beware, 

Moisture  maun  vitiate  the  freshest  fare  ; 
Cull  not  the  leaves  at  the  first  hour  of  prime. 

While  yet  the  sun  his  arrow^s  through  the  air 
Shoots  horizontal.     Tarr>'  till  he  climb 
Half  his  meridian  height :  then  is  thy  harvest -time. 

XXII. 

There  be  two  sisters  of  the  mulberry  race, 

One  of  complexion  dark  and  olive  hue  ; 
Of  taller  figure,  and  of  fairer  face, 

The  other  wins  and  captivates  the  view, 

And  to  maturity  grows  quicker  too. 
Oft  characters  with  colour  correspond  ; 

Nathless  the  silkworm  neither  will  eschew. 
He  is  of  both  immoderately  fond. 
Still  he  doth  dearly  love  the  gently  blooming  blonde.t 

*  Pabula  semper 

Sicca  legant  nullaque  fluant  aspergine  sylvs. 
t  Est  bicolor  morus,  bomby.\  vescetur  utraque 

Nigra  albensve  fuat,  is:c.,  &c.  •      u     vi     i 

The  worm  will  always  prefer  to  nibble  the  white  mulberry-leaf,  and  will  quit  the  black 
for  it  readily. 


320  The  Works  of  Father  Protit 


XXIII. 

With  milder  juice  and  more  nutritious  milk 
She  feedeth  him,  though  delicate  and  pale  ; 

Nurtured  by  her  he  spins  a  finer  silk, 

And  her  young  sucklings,  vigorous  and  hale. 
Aye  o'er  her  sister's  progeny  prevail. 

Her  paler  charms  more  appetite  beget, 
On  which  they  aye  right  greedily  regale  : 

She  bears  the  bell  in  foreign  lands  ;  and  yet. 
Our  brown  Italian  maids  prefer  the  dark  brunette.* 

XXIV. 

The  dark  brunette,  more  bountiful  of  leaves, 
With  less  refinement  more  profusion  shows ; 

But  often  such  redundancy  deceives. 
What  though  the  ripen'd  berry  ruddier  glows 
Upon  these  tufted  branches,  than  on  those. 

Due  is  the  preference  to  the  paler  plant. 
Her  to  rear  up  thy  tender  nurslings  choose, 

Her  to  thy  little  orphans'  wishes  grant, 
Nor  use  the  darker  leaves  unless  the  white  be  scant. 

XXV. 

Ovid  has  told  a  tender  tale  of  Thisbe, 

Who  found  her  lifeless  lover  lying  pale 
Under  a  spreading  mulberry.     Let  his  be 

The  merit  and  the  moral  of  that  tale. 

Sweet  is  thy  song,  in  sooth,  love's  nightingale  ! 
But  hadst  thou  known  that,  nourish'd  from  that  tree. 

Love's  artisans  would  spin  their  tissue  frail, 
Thou  never  wouldst  of  so  much  misery 
Have  laid  the  scene  beneath  a  spreading  mulberry. 

XXVI. 

Now  should  a  failure  of  the  mulberry  crop 
Send  famine  to  the  threshold  of  thy  door, 

Do  not  despair  ;  but,  climbing  to  the  top 
Of  the  tall  elm,  or  kindred  sycamore, 
Young  budding  germs  with  searching  eye  explore. 

Practise  a  pious  fraud  upon  thy  flock. 
With  false  supplies  and  counterfeited  store  ; 

Thus  for  a  while  their  little  stomachs  mock. 
Until  thou  canst  provide  of  leaves  a  genuine  stock- 

XXVII. 

But  ne'er  a  simple  village-maiden  ask 
To  climb  on  trees  t— for  her  was  never  meant 

The  rude  exposure  of  such  uncouth  task  ; 
Lest,  while  she  tries  the  perilous  ascent, 

*  Quamvis  Ausoniis  laudetur  nigra  puellis. 
V  The  good  bishop's  gallantry  is  herein  displayed  to  advantage  : — 

Nee  robora  dura 
Ascendat  permitte  in  sylvis  innuba  virgo 
Ast  operum  paticns  anus  et  cui  durior  annis 
Sit  cutis  (ingratae  facills  jactura  senectse) 
Munere  fungatur  tali.  Ne  forte  quis  altS. 
Egressus  sylvi  satyrorum  e  gente  procaci 
Suspiciat,  teneraque  pudor  notet  ora  puellae. 


A  Series  of  Alodern  Latin  Poets.  321 

On  pure  and  hospitable  thoughts  intent, 
A  wicked  Fawn,  that  lurks  behind  some  bush, 

Peep  out  with  upward  eye — rude  insolent ! 
Oh,  vile  and  desperate  hardihood  !     But,  hush ! 
Nor  let  such  matters  move  the  bashful  muse  to  blush. 

XXVIII. 

The  maiden's  ministry'  it  is  to  keep 

Incessant  vigil  o'er  the  silkworm  fold. 
Supply  fresh  fodder  to  the  nibbling  sheep, 

Cleanse  and  remove  the  remnants  of  the  old. 

Guard  against  influence  of  damp  or  cold, 
And  ever  and  anon  collect  them  all 

In  close  divan  ;  and  ere  their  food  is  doled, 

Wash  out  with  wine  each  stable  and  each  stall, 

Lest  foul  disease  the  flock  through  feculence  befall. 

XXIX. 

Changes  will  oft  come  o'er  their  outward  form, 

And  each  transition  needs  thy  anxious  cares  : 
Four  times  they  cast  their  skin.     The  spinner-worm 

Four  soft  successive  suits  of  velvet  wears  ; 

Nature  each  pliant  envelope  prepares. 
But  how  can  they,  in  previous  clothing  pent. 

Get  riddance  of  that  shaggy  robe  of  theirs  ? 
They  keep  a  three  days'  fast.     When  by  that  Lent 
Grown  lean,  they  doflf  with  ease  their  old  accoutrement. 

XXX. 

Now  are  the  last  important  days  at  hand — 

The  liquid  gold  within  its  living  mine 
Is  ripe.     Nor  nourishment  they  now  demand, 

Nor  care  for  life  ;  impatient  to  resign 

The  wealth  with  which  diaphanous  they  shine  ! 
Eager  they  look  around — imploring  look,_ 

For  branch  or  bush  their  tissue  to  entwine  ; 
Some  rudimental  threads  they  seek  to  hook, 
And  dearly  love  to  find  some  hospitable  nook. 

XXXL 

Anticipate  their  wishes,  gentle  maid  ! 

Hie  to  their  help  ;  the  fleeting  moment  catch. 
Quick  be  the  shelves  with  wickerwork  o'erlaid  ; 

Let  osier,  broom,  and  furze  their  workshop  thatch. 

With  fond  solicitude  and  blithe  despatch. 
So  may  they  quickly,  'mid  the  thicket  dense. 

Find  out  a  spot  their  purposes  to  match  ; 

So  may  they  soon  their  industry  commence. 

And  of  this  round  cocoon  plan  the  circumference. 

XXXIL 

Their  hour  is  come.     See  how  the  yellow  flood 

Swells  in  yon  creeping  cylinder  !  how  teems 
Exuberant  the  tide  of  amber  blood  ! 

How  the  recondite  gold  transparent  gleams. 

And  how  pellucid  the  bright  fluid  seems  ! 
Proud  of  such  pregnancy,  and  duly  skill'd 

In  Dedalsean  craft,  each  insect  deems 
The  glorious  purposes  of  life  fulfiU'd,  _ 
If  into  shining  silk  his  substance  be  distill'd  !  ^ 


322  TJie  Works  of  Father  Prout. 



XXXIII. 

Say,  hast  thou  ever  mark'd  the  clustering  grape, 

SwoU'n  to  maturity  with  ripe  prodilce. 
When  the  imprison'd  pulp  pants  to  escape, 

And  longs  to  joy  "  emancipated  ''  juice 

In  the  full  freedom  of  the  bowl  profuse? 
So  doth  the  silk  that  swells  their  skinny  coat 

Loathe  its  confinement,  pantmg  to  get  loose  : 
Such  longing  for  relief  their  looks  denote  — 
Soon  in  their  web  they'll  find  a  "  bane  and  antidote." 

XXXIV. 

See  !  round  and  round,  in  many  a  mirthful  maze, 

The  wily  workman  weaves  his  golden  gauze  ; 
And  while  his  throat  the  twisted  thread  purveys. 

New  lines  with  labyrinthine  labour  draws, 

Plying  his  pair  of  operative  jaws. 
From  morn  to  noon,  from  noon  to  silent  eve. 

He  toileth  without  inters'al  or  pause,* 
His  monumental  trophy  to  achieve, 
And  his  sepulchral  sheet  of  silk  resplendent  weave  ! 

XXXV. 

Approach,  and  view  thy  artisans  at  work  ; 

At  thy  wee  spinners  take  a  parting  glance  ; 
For  soon  each  puny  labourer  will  lurk 

Under  his  silken  canopy's  expanse — 

Tasteful  alcove  !  boudoir  of  elegance  ! 
There  will  the  weary  worm  in  peace  repose. 

And  languid  lethargy  his  limbs  entrance  ! 
There  his  career  of  usefulness  will  close  ! 
WTio  would  not  live  the  life  and  die  the  death  of  those  !t 

XXXVI. 

Mostly  they  spin  their  solitary  shroud 

Single,  apart,  like  ancient  anchoret  ; 
Yet  oft  a  loving  pair  will,  J  if  allow'd, 

In  the  same  sepulchre  of  silk  well  met, 

Nestle  like  Romeo  and  Juliette. 
From  such  communing  be  they  not  debarr'd. 

Mindful  of  her  who  hallow'd  Paraclet  ; 
Even  in  their  silken  cenotaph  'twere  hard 
To  part  a  Heloise  from  "her  loved  Abelard. 

XXXVII. 

The  task  is  done,  the  work  is  now  complete  ; 

A  stilly  silence  reigns  throughout  the  room  ! 
Sleep  on,  blest  beings  !  be  your  slumbers  sweet. 

And  calmly  rest  within  your  golden  tomb — 

Rest  till  restored  to  renovated  bloom. 
Bursting  the  trammels  of  that  dark  sojourn. 

Forth  ye  shall  issue,  and  rejoiced,  resume 
A  glorified  appearance,  and  return 
To  life  a  winged  thing  from  monumental  urn. 

•  Quaere,  Without /larvs  ? — P.  Devil. 

t  Mille  legunt  releguntque  vias  atque  orbibus.orbes 
Agglomerant  donee  cjeco  se  carcere  condant 
Sponte  sua.     Tanta  est  edendi  gloria  fili ! 
X  Quin  et  nonnullae  paribus  commnnin  curis 
Associant  opera  et  nebula  clauduntur  eAdem. 


XXXVIII. 

Fain  would  I  pause,  and  of  my  tuneful  text 
Reserve  the  remnant  for  a  fitter  time  : 
•    Another  song  remains.     The  summit  next 
Of  doubie-peak'd  Parnassus  when  I  climb. 
Grant  me,  ye  gods  !  the  radiant  wings  of  rhyme  ! 
Thus  may  I  bear  me  up  th'  adventurous  road 

That  \vinds  aloft — an  argument  sublime  ! 
But  of  didactic  poems  'tis  the  mode, 
No  canto  should  conclude  without  an  episode. 


XXXIX. 

Venvs  it  was  who  first  invented  silk- 
Linen  had  long,  by  Ceres  patronized, 

Supplied  Olympus  :  ladies  of  that  ilk 
No  better  sort  of  clothing  had  devised — 
Linen  alone  their  ^^rrt't'  de  robe  comprised. 

Hence  at  her  cambric  loom  the  "suitors"  found 
Penelope,  whom  hath  immortalized 

The  blind  man  eloquent  :  nor  less  renown'd 
Were  "  Troy's  proud  dames,"  whose  robes  of  linen  swept  the  ground. 


XL. 

Thus  the  first  female  fashion  was  for  flax  ; 

A  linen  tunic  was  the  garb  that  graced 
Exclusively  the  primitive  "Almack's." 

Simplicity's  costume  !  too  soon  effaced 

By  vain  inventions  of  more  modern  taste. 
Then  was  the  reign  of  modesty  and  sense. 

Fair  ones,  I  ween,  were  not  more  prude  and  chaste, 
Girt  in  hoop  petticoats'  circumference 
Or  stays — but,  Honi  soit  the  rogue  qui  Dial y  pejtst. 


XLI. 

Wool,  by  Minerva  manufactured,  met 
With  blithe  encouragement  and  brisk  demand ; 

Her  loom  by  constant  buyers  was  beset, 

"  Orders  from  foreign  houses"  kept  her  hand 
Busy  SI! -plying  many  a  distant  land. 

She  was  ci'  woollen  stuffs  the  sole  provider. 
Till  some  were  introduced  by  contraband  : 

A  female  call'd  Arachne  thus  defied  her, 
But  soon  gave  up  the  trade,  being  t«rn'd  into  a  spider. 


XLIL 

Thus  a  complete  monopoly  in  wool, 
"Almost  amounting  to  a  prohibition," 

Enabled  her  to  satisfy  in  full 
The  darling  object  of  her  life's  ambition. 
And  gratify  her  spiteful  disposition. 

Venls,*  she  had  determined,  should  not  be 
Suffer'd  to  purchase  stuffs  o}i  no  condition ; 

While  everj'  naked  Naiad  nymph  wzs  free 
To  buy  her  serge,  moreen,  and  woollen  draperie. 

*  Tantum  nuda  Venus  moerebat  muneris  expers 
Egregiam  ob  fonnam  textrici  invisa  Minervse. 


324 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


XLIII. 

Albeit  "when  unadorn'd  adorn'd  the  most," 

The  goddess  could  not  brook  to  be  outwitted  ; 
How  could  she  bear  her  rival's  bitter  boast. 

If  to  this  taunt  she  quietly  submitted  ? 

Olympus  (naked  as  she  was;  she  quitted, 
Fully  determined  to  bring  back  as  fine  a 

Dress  as  was  ever  woven,  spun,  or  knitted  ; 
Europe  she  search'd,  consulted  the  Czarina, 
And,  taking  good  advice,  cross'd  o'er  "  the  wall  "  to  China. 


XLIV. 

Long  before  Europeans,  the  Chinese 

Possess'd  the  compass,  silkworms,  and  gunpowder. 
And  types,  and  tea,  and  other  rarities. 

China  (with  gifts  since  Nature  hath  endow'd  her) 

Is  proud  ;  what  land  hath  reason  to  be  prouder? 
Her  let  the  dull  "  Barbarian  Eye  "  respect, 

And  be  her  privileges  all  allow'd  her  : 
She  is  the  widow  (please  to  recollect) 
Of  ONE  the  deluge  drown'd,  Primordial  Intellect. 

XLV. 

The  good  inhabitants  of  Pekin,  when 

They  saw  the  dame  in  downright  dishabille 

Were  shock'd.     Such  sight  was  far  beyond  the  ken 
Of  their  Confucian  notions.     Full  of  zeal 
To  guard  the  morals  of  the  commonweal. 

They  straight  deputed  Sylk,  a  mandarin. 
Humbly  before  the  visitant  to  kneel 

With  downcast  eye,  and  offer  Beauty's  queen 
A  rich  resplendent  robe  of  gorgeous  bombazine. 


XLVI. 

Venus  received  the  vesture  nothing  loth, 

And  much  its  gloss,  its  softness  much  admired. 
And  praised  that  specimen  of  foreign  growth, 

So  splendid,  and  so  cheaply,  too,  acquired  ! 

Quick  in  the  robe  her  graceful  limbs  attired. 
She  seeks  a  mirror — there  delighted  dallies  ; 

So  rich  a  dress  was  all  could  be  desired. 
How  she  rejoiced  to  disappoint  the  malice 
Of  her  unfeeling  foe,  the  vile,  vindictive  Pallas  !* 


XLVII. 

But  while  she  praised  the  gift  and  thank'd  the  giver. 

Of  spinner-worms  she  sued  for  a  supply. 
Forthwith  the  good  Chinese  fill'd  Cupid's  quiver 

With  the  cocoons,  in  which  each  worm  doth  lie 

Snug,  until  changed  into  a  butterfly. 
The  light  cocoons  wild  Cupid  shower'd  o'er  Greece, 

And  o'er  the  isles,  and  over  Italy, 
Into  the  lap  of  industry  and  peace  ; 
And  the  glad  nations  hail'd  the  long-sought  "Golden  Fleece. "t 

*  Rettulit  insignes  tunicas,  nihil  indlga  lanae. 
t  Gratum  opus  Ausoniis  dum  volvunt  fila  puellis. 


XVII. 

lotimx  K:xiin  "^otb. 

(Frasers  Magazine,  September,  1835.) 


[In  the  same  number  of  Fraser  which  contained  this  second  instalment  of  Prout's 
dissertation  on  some  of  the  modern  and  minor  Latin  poets,  appeared  the  posthumous 
sketch  of  a  popular  M.P.,  then  but  ver>'  recently  deceased,  Michael  Thomas  Sadler, 
author  of  the  "  Law  of  Population."  The  dark-ej-ed,  melancholy-looking  politician  there 
depicted  by  a  few  lifelike  touches  from  the  genial  etching-needle  of  Alfred  Croquis, 
won  for  himself  the  double  glory-,  first  of  having  pulverized  the  stony-hearted  theory  of 
Parson  Malthus,  and  secondly,  of  having  penned  a  book  that  was  declared  even  by  his 
opponents  to  be  the  best  ever  written  upon  the  subject,  and  one,  therefore,  which  must 
have  endeared  him  about  equally  to  Maclise,  Maginn,  and  Mahony— his  great  work,  pub- 
lished as  long  ago  as  1827,  on  the  "  Evils  of  Ireland,  and  their  Remedies."] 


CHAPTER 


II._Casimir  Sarbiewski,   S.   Sannazar,  Jerome 
Fracastor. 


"  In  omnibus  requiem  quaesivi  et  non  inveni  nisi  in  nookins  et  in  bookins  "  (quod 
Teutonice  sonat  in  angulis  et  libellis). —Thomas  a  Kempis.  See  Ekevu-  edition  of 
Imitat.  Xti.,  p.  247,  in  vita. 

"  I  beg  to  lay  particular  emphasis 
On  this  remark  of  Thomas  a  Kempis's." 

Proct. 

It  has  often  occurred  to  us,  while  engaged  in  the  arrangement  and  editing  of 
these  papers,  that  surely  so  gifted  a  man  as  the  late  incumbent  of  Watergrass- 
hill  must  have  felt  himself  miserably  misplaced  in  that  dull  and  drear>'  distnct. 
We  are  informed  bv  Archdeacon  Palev,  in  his  ' '  Natural  Theology '  (a  book  on 
which  Brougham  has  of  late  fixed  his  claws  in  the  true  Harpy  fashion),  that  to 
meet  with  a  stone  on  a  barren  heath  is  a  common  incident,  whereas  to  find  a 
chronometer  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place  would  immediately  suggest  a 
bright  chain  of  argument,  and  lots  of  conjectural  cogitation.  \\  hat  would  not 
Paley  have  thought  and  said,  had  he  stumbled  on  the  cunously-wrought  pen- 
cranium  of  Prout  in  his  rambles  over  the  bogs  and  potato-fields  of  the  parish, 
met  him  on  "bottle  hill,"  or  found  him  on  the  brink  of  the  "brook  that  flows 
fast  by  the"  castle  of  Blarney?    In  addition  to  this  palpable  unfitness  of  the 


326       '  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 

spot,  where  for  him  the  lines  of  destiny  had  fallen — in  aggravation  of  this  local 
solecism,  there  would  further  seem  to  be  something  chronologically  wrong  in  the 
disposal  of  so  much  antique  wisdom  on  a  flimsy  and  a  frivolous  age.  Properly 
speaking,  Prout  should  have  lived  at  another  epoch  of  the  world  altogether  : 
we  say  for  his  own  sake,  not  for  ours.  It  is  clear,  that  of  the  current  qualifi- 
cations for  successful  authorship  he  knew  nothing ;  he  was  lamentably  unin- 
itiated in  our  contemporary  school  of  puffery,  quackery,  and  presumption. 
With  a  mind  habitually  recurring  to  the  standard  models  of  everlasting  elegance, 
ever  fondly  communing  with  the  illustrious  dead,  he  must  have  had  the  dis- 
agreeable consciousness  of  being  here  on  earth  an  incarnate  anachronism.  Of 
his  personal  feelings  we  unfortunately  know  but  little,  as  he  modestly  suppresses 
all  allusion  to  such  matters — (how  very  unlike  everybody  else  now-a-days  I) — 
but  we  should  assimilate  them,  if  we  may  be  allowed  to  indulge  in  a  fancy  of 
our  own,  to  the  jarring  sensations  of  an  Etruscan  vase  surrounded  by  vulgar 
crocker>-.  ■    . 

This  is  mere  guess-work,  mark  ye  !  for  in  his  writings  we  have  not  yet  dis- 
covered a  single  line  indicative  of  dissatisfaction  at  the  decrees  of  Providence  in 
his  regard  ;  not  a  word  that  would  betray  a  tendency  to  repine  at  his  condition. 
What  a  contrast  to  all  around  us  ! 

There  was  a  time  when  Tom  Moore  (who  has  at  last  snugly  settled  down  into 
a  Whig  pensioner)  fancied  "  he  was  born  for  much  more  "  than  mere  melody- 
mongering,  and  accordingly  gave  out  that 

"  The  chord  which  now  languishes  loose  o'er  the  lyre 
Might  have  bent  a  proud  bow  to  the  warrior's  dart." 

On  which  data  we  have  often  tried  to  conjure  up  a  warlike  image  of  the 
minstrel  in  our  mind's  eye,  but,  for  the  hfe  of  us,  could  only  see  on  our  mental 
retina  a  tomtit,  holding  in  its  claw  a  bow  and  arrow. 

To  return  to  our  author.  Of  him  we  are  quite  safe  in  predicating  that  he 
"was  bom  for  much  more"  than  the  humble  post  he  filled  in  the  Romish 
hierarchy  in  Ireland,  and  that  he  might  have  expanded  his  \-iews  of  earthly 
aggrandizement  with  every  prospect  of  success. 

"  Majores  nido  pennas  extendisse." 

Ilor.  Ep.  I.  XX.  21. 

But  ambition  had  no  place  in  the  organization  of  his  inward  man.  He  sought 
not  the  ephemeral  honours  of  this  transitor\'  scene  ;  he  wooed  not  perishable 
glory ;  and  so  insensible  was  he  to  the  fascinations  of  Fame,  that,  far  from 
courting  that  meretricious  nymph  in  her  devious  haunts,  he  would  have  rudely 
repelled  her,  were  she  to  be  found  where  Solomon  met  Wisdom,  "sitting at  his 
gate."  And  still  we  inchne  to  think  that  man,  after  all,  is  but  the  creature  of 
circumstances;  and  that  in  another  order  of  things,  in  "happier  hours"  and 
a  happier  climate,  Prout  would  have  developed  himself  in  a  grander  form. 
Had  he  flourished  with  Vida  at  the  court  of  the  Medici,  like  him  hewould  have 
worn  a  mitre,  and  like  him  would  have  shed  lustre  on  "  his  order,"  instead  of 
deriving  fro7n  it,  as  some  do,  all  their  importance  in  society.  Had  he  lived  at 
Madrid  in  the  days  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  he  woilld  have  been  (under 
Cardinal  Ximenes)  chief  editor  of  the  great  Complufensian  Polyglott;  and  we 
can  easily  fancy  him  at  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.,  indulging  at  once  his  literary 
and  piscatorial  propensities  among  those  who  got  up  the  classics  in  usum 
Delphini. 

In  the  wilderness  of  Watergrasshill  he  was  a  mere  (^wi/rj  iv  sprmu^,  and 
the  exemplary  old  pasiors  resemblance  to  the  Baptist  was  further  visible  in 
his  peculiarity  of  diet  ;  for  small  do  we  deern  the  difference  between  a  dried 
locust  and  a  red  herring. 


Modern  Lathi  Poets.  327 


However,  when  we  say  that  he  was  totally  unappreciated  in  Ireland  during 
his  lifetime,  we  must  make  one  honourable  exception  in  favour  of  a  citizen  of 
Cork,  the  Roscoe  of  that  seaport ;  an  individual  of  vast  learning  and  compre- 
hensive judgment,  who  proved  his  possession  of  both  by  rightly  understanding 
Prout.  It  was  said  of  Roscoe  by  Geoffry  Crayon,  that,  like  Cleopatra's  pillar 
on  the  shore  of  Alexandria,  he  rose  above  the  conmiercial  vulgarities  of  Liver- 
pool, and  stood  forth  to  the  eye  of  the  stranger  a  conspicuous  but  solitary 
specimen  of  antique  and  classic  grandeur.  Such  is  the  eminent  scholar  to  whom 
we  allude,  and  of  whom  Cork  may  be  justly  proud.  Three  roaches,  nagea7it  en 
azur,  form  that  gentleman's  escutcheon  ;  and  these  fishes  seem  to  have  given 
rise  to  much  punning  and  innuendo.  Great  was  his  friendship  for  the  priest ; 
many  and  valuable  are  the  marginal  notes  with  which  he  has  adorned  these 
papers ;  and  we  further  suspect  the  following  hues  on  the  deceased  hierophant 
to  be  from  his  terse  and  judicious  pen  : 

"  Sacr.  Manib.  Axdr.  Prout. 

Quern  licet  extrema  rapuerunt  fata  senecta, 

Et  vitae  saturum  sopiit  alta  quies, 
Nos  tamen  hunc  velut  immaturo  funere  raptum 

Flemus  et  effusis  diffluimus  lachr^'mis. 
Ille  igitur  periit,  quondamque  ilia,  ilia  diserta, 

Et  dulci  manans  nectare  lingua  tacet ! 
Ingeniumque  sagax  et  amor  virtutis  et  sequi, 

Omnia  sub  parvo  condita  sunt  tumulo." 

To  that  gentleman  belongs  the  praise  of  singular  discrimination  in  detecting, 
with  intuitive  glance,  the  latent  accomplishments  of  the  rural  divine ;  and  it 
must  be  a  peculiar  gratification  to  him  to  perceive,  that  however  blind  folks 
have  been  to  his  merits  while  ahve,  there  has  been  but  one  opinion  as  to  his 
high  endowments  now  that  he  is  no  more.  There  is,  in  fact,  but  one  voice  of 
unanimous  acclamation  in  favour  of  the  old  priest,  since  the  publication  of  his 
posthumous  compositions ;  and  never  was  the  aged  Chrysias,  the  mild  and 
unassuming  chaplain  of  Apollo,  more  popular  in  the  camp  before  Troy  than 
Father  Prout  among  the  reading  public. 

EvG'  aXXot  [xtv  iravTE^  Enr£vcf)rifir]C7av  A\aLOL. 

AIAEISeAI  6'  lEPHA  /cai  APAAA  AEXBAI  AHOINA.     A'  23. 

OLIVER  YORKE. 


Watergrasshill,  Se/^.  1826. 

Among  all  the  fanciful  embellishments  that  adorn  the  pages  of  our  legend, 
none  partakes  of  a  more  truly  poetical  character  than  the  story  related  by  St. 
Gregory  of  Tours,  in  his  tract  "  De  Gloria  Martyrum,"  lib.  i.  cap.  95,  about 
seven  youths,  who,  flying  to  a  mountain-cave  from  the  persecution  that  raged 
in  Ephesus,  fell  there  into  a  deep  and  miraculous  slumber  ;  whence  awaking, 
after  nearly  two  centuries  of  balmy  rest,  they  walked  abroad,  and  were  some- 
what startled  at  the  sight  of  a  cross  triumphantly  emblazoned  over  the  gates 
of  the  city.  Still  greater  was  their  surprise  when  a  baker,  to  whom  they 
tendered  what  they  considered  the  current  coin  of  the  empire,  eyed  them 
suspiciously,  asking  where  they  had  dug  up  that  old  medal  of  the  pagan 
persecutor  Decius,  and  hinting  that  in  the  new  Theodosian  code  there  were 
certain  laws  relative  to  treasure  trove,  which  might  possibly  concern  them. 
Much  do  I  fear,  that  my  appearance  in  the  literary  market  with  these  specimens 
of  antiquated  and  exploded  composition,  with  this  depreciated  coinage  of  the 
human  brain,  long  since  gone  out  of  circulation  in  the  republic  of  letters,  may 


328 


The  Works  of  father  Prout 


subject  me  to  the  inconveniences  experienced  by  the  sez'c?t  sleepers,  and  to 
a  similar  rebuke  from  the  critical  fraternity.  But  the  fact  is,  I  am  totallv  un- 
provided with  the  specie  that  forms  the  present  circulating  medium,  and  must 
needs  obtrude  on  the  monetary  system  of  the  day  some  rusty  old  denarii 
and  sestertia. 

I  trust,  however,  that  in  comparing  my  operations  in  this  matter  to  the 
proceedings  recorded  in  the  legend  of  those  never-to-be-forgotten  ''sleepers," 
the  snatches  of  Latin  poetrv'  I  am  about  to  produce  may  not  receive  the  com- 
mendation somewhat  equivocally  bestowed  by  a  shepherd  in  the  "  Eclogue  "  on 
the  verses  of  another  tuneful  swain,  viz.  : 

"  Tale  tuum  carmen  nobis  divine  poeta, 
Quale  sopor  1 " 

it  being  my  assiduous  care  to  keen  my  readers  constantly  awake  during  the 
progress  of  each  paper  of  mine,  preferring,  for  that  purpose,  to  wear  occasion- 
ally the  cap  and  bells  of  innocent  Folly,  rather  than  don  for  a  single  moment 
the  cotton  nightcap  of  solemn  Du;ne;;3. 

The  name  of  Vida,  whose  poetry  occupied  the  opening  chapter  of  this  series, 
has  ever  been  (thanks  to  Pope  '.]  familiar  to  the  British  public.  Not  so  with 
the  three  worthies  whom  I  have  grouped  together  on  the  present  occasion. 
Thousands,  who  have  abundantly  heard  of  Bob  Montgomery  and  Barry  Corn- 
wall, never  have  even  suspected  the  existence  of  these  Latin  luminaries,  that 
shed  such  a  mild  effulgence  in  the  remote  rtgicn  through  which  they  revolve  : 
in  the  same  manner,  thousands  who,  with  nose  upturned,  gaze  on  the  ephemeral 
rockets  of  \'auxhall,  never  have,  by  any  chance,  fixed  an  admiring  eye  on  the 
satellites  of  Jupiter  or  the  ring  of  Saturn.  Talking  of  Jupiter  and  Saturn,  it 
is  related  in  Lempriere's  "Dictionary,"  that  when  the  unnatural  father  was 
kicked  out  of  Heaven  by  his  unruly  son,  aided  by  Titan,  he  fled  into  Latium, 
and  there  hid  himself;  whence  the  name  of  that  Latin  country  originated 
d  latendo.  This  allegory  is  very  aporopriate  to  the  case  of  my  three  modem 
Latin  poets,  who  have  effectually  escaped  the  attention  of  mankind  by  wrapping 
up  their  precious  conceptions  in  an  idio.Ti  inaccessible  to  the  vulgar. 

However,  one  experiences  great  delight  in  treading  a  path  hitherto  untrod- 
den, in  exploring  a  tract  of  undiscovered  territor)',  in  findmg  quasi  a  north- 
west passage  through  the  wilderness  of  Parnassus.  Virgil  himself  was  not 
insensible  to  the  glad  sensations  attendant  on  such  recondite  ramblings,  and 
does  not  conceal  his  preference  for  the  by-ways  (or  what  we  call  in  Ireland  the 
"  boreens  ")  that  intersect  the  land  of  poesy  : 

"  Me  Parnas^i  deserta  per  ardua  dulcis 

Raptat  amor  :  juvat  ire  jugis  qua  nulla  priorum 
Castaliam  molli  divertitur  orLiia  clivo." 

Georg.  iii.  v.  292. 

With  similar  feelings  I  enter  on  the  hitherto  imreconnoitred  ground  marked 
out  on  the  poetical  chart  by  the  three  names  that  figure  as  my  text,  and  con- 
fess that  I  take  a  wild  pleasure,  and,  as  Gray  says  [ride  an  Ode  to  Eton  College), 
I  "  snatch  a  fearful  joy,"  in  expatiating  on  the  unfrequented  fields  belonging 
to  Casimir  Sarbiewski,  Actius  Sannazaro,  and  Jerome  Fracastor. 

These  three  poets  I  have  united  here  in  one  dissertation,  not  from  any  dis- 
inclination to  consider  them  separately  and  individually  (each  having  sufficient 
merit  of  his  own  to  entitle  him  to  an  especial  essay\  but  the  truth  is,  there  are 
so  many  candidates  for  notice  in  the  department  of  modern  Latin  poetry,  that, 
unless  I  adopt  this  plan  of  producing  them  in  batches,  I  might  never  see  the 
end  on't.  To  embalm  thus  their  triple  memory  in  one  shrine  will  not  be 
thought  derogatory  or  disrespectful,   when  it  is  remembered  that   the  three 


Horatii  were  buried  together  in  one  tomb,  on  the  declivity  of  the  hill  of  Alba, 
as  may  be  seen  in  Piranesis  etchings,  and  that  even  three  saints  have 
occasionally  been  huddled  together  in  a  joint  occupancy  of  the  sepulchre,  as 
may  be  learned  from  the  following  distich,  descriptive  of  the  burial-place  of 
SS.  Patrick,  Bridget,  and  Columkille,  at  Downpatrick  : 

"  In  sacro  Duno  tumulo  tumulantur  in  uno 
Brigida,  Patricius,  atque  Columba  pius. " 

"  Quce  cum  ita  sint"  (as  Cicero  has  it),  I  enter  en  viatiere. 

Casimir  Sarbiewski,  who  in  his  day  was  hailed  by  all  Europe  as  the  Horace 
of  Poland  (which  I  learn  from  the  Cambridge  pocket  edition  of  his  poems 
now  before  me),  belonged  to  one  of  the  noblest  houses  of  the  kingdom,  and 
was  born  in  1596.  Having  been  initiated  among  the  Jesuits  at  their  college  of 
Wilna,  he  quickly  rose  to  eminence  in  that  distinguished  fraternity,  and  was 
subsequently  induced  by  Count  Xicolai  to  accompany  him  on  a  tour  of  classic 
enjoyment  to  Italy.  They  were  waylaid  and  robbed  in  the  mountains  of  the 
Tyrol  ;  for,  alas  !  our  Latin  poet,  not  having  written  in  a  vulgar  tongue,  could 
not,  like  Ariosto  overawe  the  brigands  by  reveahng  his  name,  and  claiming  the 
safeguard  of  the  Muse.  Xicolai  never  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  adven- 
ture, and  died  on  his  arrival  at  Rome  ;  but  Sarbiewski  had  within  him  that 
which  consoled  the  shipwrecked  Simonides,  and  being  enabled  to  exclaim 
"  Omnia  mca  viecum  forio,"  was  but  little  affected  by  his  disaster,  ^\'e  find 
him  at  Rome,  stud}nng  archaeology  and  numismatics  under  the  illustrious 
Donato,  and  soon  attracting,  by  the  sweetness  of  his  poetic  talent,  the  notice 
of  a  brother  bard.  Pope  Urbani  VIII.  (Barberini).  By  orders  of  the  pontiff, 
he  was  engaged  in  revising  the  hymns  of  the  Roman  breviary,  of  which  a  new 
version  was  then  put  forth  ;  and  to  him  may  be  attributed  some  of  the  pathetic 
and  classic  touches  that  occasionally  are  perceptible  among  the  rude  canticles 
of  our  liturgy. 

During  Sarbiewski's  residence  in  the  capital  of  the  Christian  world,  he  made 
many  friends  and  admirers  among  the  dignitaries  of  the  Roman  purple  and 
the  nobles  of  Italy ;  of  whose  intim.acy  with  this  lyrist  of  the  north  there  are 
abundant  traces  in  his  metrical  elTusions.  But  the  family  of  Pope  Urban, 
distinguished  as  it  was  from  the  earliest  period  in  arts  and  arms,  enjoyed  most 
the  poets  society,  and  added  to  its  previous  illustrations  the  merit  of 
patronizing  and  cherishing  the  modem  Horace.  To  his  pontifical  Mecasnas 
he  had  addressed  very  many  of  his  odes,  and  I  feel  great  pleasure  in  selecting 
from  the  number  the  following  graceful  specimen,  because  of  its  melodious 
cadences  and  exquisite  Latinity  : 


Odarum,  Lib.  3,  Ode  XV. 

AD   APES    BARBERIXAS. 
Me  Ileum  venisse  ScECulum. 

Gives  Hv-metti,  gratus  Atticae  lepos,  Laboriosis  quid  juvat  volatibus 

Virginise  volucres,  Rus  et  agros  gra\'idis 

Flavaeque  veris  filiae  !  Perambulare  cniribiis. 

Fures  rosarum,  turba  praedatrix  thymi.  Si  Barberino  delicata  principe 

Nectaris  artifices,  Saecula  melle  fluant, 

Bonsequc   u  is  hospitse  !  Parata  vobis  saecula  ! 


330 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


TO   THE    BEES 

{Armorial Bearings  of  the  Barberini  Favtily),  on  Urban  tlie  Eighth's  Elevation  to  tJie 

Pontificate. 

Casi.mir  Sarbiewski. 


Citizens  of  Mount  Hymettus, 

Attic  labourers  who  toil, 
Never  ceasing  till  ye  get  us 

Winter  store  of  honeyed  spoil ! 

Nectar  ye  with  sweets  and  odours, 

Hebes  of  the  hive,  compose. 
Flora's  privileged  marauders. 

Chartered  pirates  of  the  rose  ! 

Gipsy  tribe,  gay,  wild,  and  vagrant, 
Wmged  poachers  of  the  dawn. 

Sporting  o'er  each  meadow  fragrant. 
Thieving  it  on  every  lawn  ! 

Every  plant  and  flower  ye  touch  on. 
Wears,  I  ween,  a  fresher  grace  ; 

For  ye  form  the  proud  escutcheon 
Of  the  Barberini  race. 

Emblem  bright,  which  to  embroider, 
While  her  knight  was  far  away, 

!Many  a  maiden  hath  employed  her 
Fairy  fingers  night  and  day  ! 

Bees,  though  pleased  your  flight  I  gaze  on, 

In  the  garden  or  the  field, 
Brighter  hues  your  wings  emblazon 

(jn  the  Barberini  shield  ! 


Of  that  race  a  pontiff  reigneth. 
Sovereign  of  imperial  Rome  ; 

Lo  !  th'  armorial  bee  obtaineth 
For  its  hive  St.  Peter's  dome  ! 

Hitherto  a  rose's  chalice 
Held  thee,  winged  artisan  ! 

But  thou  fillest  now  the  palace 
Of  the  gorgeous  Vatican. 

And  an  era  now  commences, 
By  a  friendly  genius  plann'd  ; 

Princely  bee.  Urban  dispenses 

Honeyed  days  throughout  the  land. 

Seek  no  more  with  tuneful  humming 
Where  the  juicy  floweret  grows, 

Halcyon  days  for  you  are  coming — 
Days  of  plenty  and  repose  ! 

Rest  ye,  workmen  blithe  and  bonnie  ; 

Be  no  more  the  cowslip  suck'd  ; 
Honeyed  flows  the  Tiber,  honey 

Fills  each  Roman  aqueduct. 

j\I>Ttle  groves  are  fast  distilling 
Honey  ;  honeyed  falls  the  dew. 

Ancient  prophecies  fulfilling 
A  Diillciuiiiiin  for  you  ! 


It  is  related  in  the  natural  history  of  the  stork,  by  the  learned  BoL-rlinckius, 
that  some  Polish  amateur  of  feathered  animals  having  had  one  in  his  posses- 
sion, was  induced  to  try  an  experiment  as  to  its  migratory  propensities.  He 
accordingly  set  it  free,  having  previously  attached  to  its  neck  a  tin  collar,  or 
label,  on  which  was  inscribed  a  poetical  indication  for  the  use  of  those  whom 
it  might  visit,  viz.  : 

"  H.EC    CICON'IA, 
EX    POLOMA." 

The  liberated  stork  flew  o'er  the  Carpathian  mountains,  across  Tartary ;  and 
after  having,  in  double  quick  time,  performed  the  "  overland  journey  to  India," 
was  caught  by  some  Jesuit  missionaries  on  the  coast  of  Malabar.  The  learned 
fathers,  with  the  instinctive  s;igacity  of  their  order,  easily  understood  the 
motive  which  had  dictated  that  inscription  ;  they  therefore  substituted  for  the 
tin  label  one  of  gold,  and  the  carrier-stork  was  subsequently  recaptured  in 
Poland,  when  the  lines  were  found  altered  thus  : 


INDIA    CUM    UONIS, 

ALE.M    KEMITTIT    I'OLONIS. 


Such  appears  to  have  been  the  generous  conduct  of  Urban  towards  Sar- 
biewski.  On  his  departure  for  his  native  land,  he  loaded  him  with  presents; 
and  some  biographers  make  especial  mention  of  a  ponderous  gold  medal, 


Modern  Latin  Poets. 


331 


valued  at  one  hundred  sequins,  which  the  holy  father  bestowed  on  the  child 
of  song. 

On  his  return  to  Wilna,  he  was  appointed  professor  of  rhetoric  in  the 
society's  college,  and  for  several  years  poured  forth  the  sunshine  of  his  genius 
on  the  heads  of  his  delighted  compatriots.  While  he  taught  the  young  idea 
how  to  shoot,  he  was  not  unmindful  of  giving  a  patriotic  direction  to  the 
studious  exercises  over  which  it  was  his  pleasing  duty  to  preside;  and  it  is 
probably  about  this  period  that  he  composed  many  of  those  inspiriting  war- 
songs  whicla  crowd  the  pages  of  his  book,  and  bear  evidence  of  the  proud 
emotions  with  which  he  contemplated  the  military  glories  of  his  coimtrymen. 
The  chord  which  he  appears  most  willingly  to  awaken,  is  that  which  throbs  in 
unison  with  the  pulse  of  the  patriot  brave  ;  and  from  a  vast  variety  of  martial 
dithyrambs,  offering  to  the  selector  V embarras  des  richesses,  I  lay  the  following 
before  my  readers,  in  the  full  confidence  of  their  rising  from  its  perusal 
impressed  with  the  vigour  and  manliness  of  the  poet's  mind.  The  victory  it 
commemorates  was  of  immense  importance  to  Europe  at  that  period,  the 
young  sultan,  Osman  II.,  having  advanced  to  the  frontiers  of  Christendom 
with  an  army  of  four  hundred  thousand  men ;  and  were  it  not  for  the  prowess 
of  Poland,  placed  as  it  were  by  Providence  at  the  post  of  peril,  and  shielding 
the  whole  family  of  civilized  nations  from  the  inroads  of  barbaric  strength,  the 
Turk  would  infallibly  have  overrun  our  fairest  provinces,  and  spread  desolation 
throughout  the  whole  western  continent.  Were  it  but  for  these  considerations 
alone,  that  unfortunate  land  deserves  the  sympathy  of  every  friend  to  generous 
achievements  and  noble  deeds. 


Ode  IV..  Lib.  4. 

In  Polonorum  celebrem  de  Osinano 
Tiaxartim  Iviperatoj'e  Victoria)/!, 
A.D.  MDCXXI.  Septembris  Jdibus. 

Casimirus  Sarbievius,  S.J. 

Dives  Galesus,  fertilis  accola 
Galesus  Istri,  dum  sua  Dacicis 
Fatigat  in  campis  aratra, 
Et  galeas  clypeosque  passim,  ac 


Magnorum  acervos  eruit  os?ium  ; 

Vergente  serum  sole  sub  hesperum 
Fessus  resedisse,  et  solutos 
Non  solito  tenuisse  cantu 


Fertur  juvencos  :  "  Carpite  dum  licet, 
Dum  tuta  vobis  otia  ;  carpite 

Oblita  jam  vobis  virela, 

Emeriti  mea  cura  tauri ! 


Victor  Polonus  dum  posita  super 
Respirat  hasta,  sic  etiam  vigil 

Saevusque.     Proh  I  quantis,  Polone  ! 

Moldavici  tegis  arva  campi 


Ode  IV.,  Book  4. 

Ode  on  the  signal  Defeat  of  the  Sidtan 
Osman,  by  the  Army  of  Poland 
and  her  Allies.     September  1 62 1. 

C.-J.SmiR   S.^RBIEWSKI. 

As  slow  the  plough  the  oxen  plied. 
Close  bj'  the  Danube's  rolling  tide, 
With  old  Galeski  for  their  guide— 

The  Dacian  farmer — 
His  eye  amid  the  furrows  spied 

Men's  bones  and  armour, 

The  air  was  calm,  the  sun  was  low. 
Calm  was  the  mighty  river's  flow. 
And  silently,  with  footsteps  slow. 

Laboured  the  yoke ; 
When  fervently,  with  patriot  glow. 

The  veteran  spoke  : 

"  Halt  ye,  my  oxen  !     Pause  we  here 
Where  valour's  vestiges  appear, 
And  Islaam's  relics  far  and  near 

Lurk  in  the  soil ; 
While  Poland  on  victorious  spear 

Rests  from  her  toil. 

And  well  she  may  triumphant  rest, 
Adorn  with  glory's  plume  her  crest, 
And  wear  of  victory  the  vest 

Elnte  and  flu- bed  : 
Oft  was  the  Paynin.'s  pride  repressed — 

Here  it  was  crushed  ! 


332 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Thracum  minis  !  quas  ego  Bistonum 
Hie  cerno  strages  !  quanta  per  avios 

Disjecta  late  scuta  colles  ! 

Quae  Geticis  vacua  arma  truncis  ! 


Here  the  tremendous  deed  was  done, 
Here  the  transcendent  trophy  won, 
Where  fragments  lie  of  sword  and  gun. 

And  lance  and  shield. 
And  Turkey's  giant  skeleton 

Cumbers  the  field  ! 


Hac  acer  ibat  Sarmata  (Thracibus 
Captivus  olim  nam  memini  puer), 
Hie  sere  squallentes  et  auro 
Concanus  explicuit  catervas. 


Heavens  I  I  remember  well  that  day, 
Of  warrior  men  the  proud  display. 
Of  brass  and  steel  the  dread  array — 

Van,  flank,  and  rear  ; 
How  my  young  heart  the  charger's  neigh 

Throbbed  high  to  hear  ! 


Heu  quanta  vidi  praelia  cum  ferox 
Rigeret  hastis  campus,  et  horridi 
CoUata  tempestas  Gradivi 
Ambiguis  fluitaret  armis. 


How  gallantly  our  lancers  stood, 
Of  bristling  spears  an  iron  wood, 
Fraught  with  a  desperate  hardihood 

That  naught  could  daunt, 
And  burning  for  the  bloody  feud. 

Fierce,  grim,  and  gaunt ! 


Suspensa  paullum  substitit  alitis 
Procella  ferri,  donee  ahenea 
Hinc  inde  nubes  sulphurato 
Plurima  detonuisset  igni. 


Then  rose  the  deadly  din  of  fight ; 

Then  shouting  charged,  with  all  his  might, 

Of  Wilna  each  Teutonic  knight. 

And  of  St.  John's, 
While  flashing  out  from  yonder  height 

Thundered  the  bronze. 


Turn  vero  signis  signa,  viris  viri, 
Dextrseque  dextris,  et  pedibus  pedes, 

Et  tela  respondere  telis 

Et  clypeis  clypei  rotundi. 


Non  tanta  campos  grandine  verberat 
Nivalis  Arctos  ;  non  fragor  Alpium 
Tantus  renitentes  ab  imo 
Cum  violens  agit  Auster  omos. 


Dire  was  the  struggle  in  the  van, 
Fiercely  we  grappled  man  with  man, 
Till  soon  the  Paynim  chiels  began 

For  breath  to  gasp  ; 
^\^len  Warsaw  folded  Ispahan 

In  deadly  grasp. 

So  might  a  tempest  grasp  a  pine. 

Tall  giant  of  the  Apennine, 

Whose  rankling  roots  deep  undermine 

The  mountain's  base  : 
Fitting  antagonists  to  twine 

In  stern  embrace. 


Hinc  quantus,  atque  hinc  impetus  sereo 
Diffusus  imbri  !     Miscet  opus  frequens, 

Furorque,  virtusque,  et  perenni 

Immoritur  brevis  ira  famae. 


Loud  rung  on  helm,  and  coat  of  mail. 

Of  musketry  the  rattling  hail  ; 

Of  wounded  men  loud  rose  the  wail 

In  dismal  rout ; 
And  now  alternate  would  prevail 

The  victor's  shout. 


Din  supremam  nutat  in  aleam 
Fortima  belli.     .Stat  numerosior 

Hinc  Bessus  :  hinc  contra  Polonus 

Exiguus  metuendus  alis. 


Long  time  amid  the  vapours  dense 
The  lire  of  battle  raged  intense, 
While  Victory  held  in  suspense 

The  scales  on  high  : 
But  Poland  in  her  faith's  defence 

Maun  do  or  die  ! 


Sed  quid  Cydones,  aut  pavidi  Dahae, 
MoUesque  eampo  cedere  Coneani ; 
Quid  Seres,  aversoque  pugnax 
Paribus  equo,  Cilicumque  turmae. 


Rash  was  the  hope,  and  poor  the  chance. 
Of  blunting  that  victorious  lance  ; 
Though  Turkey  from  her  broad  expanse 

Brought  all  her  sons, 
Swelling  with  tenfold  arrogance, 

Hell's  myrmidons ! 


Modern  Latin  Poets. 


333 


Contra  sequacis  pectora  Sarmatas 
Possent  fugaces?     Hinc  ruit  impiger 

PoLONCs,  illinc  Lithuanus  ; 

Quale  duplex  ruit  axe  fulmen. 


Stout  was  each  Cossack  heart  and  hand. 
Brave  was  our  Lithuanian  band. 
But  Gallantry's  own  native  land 

Sent  forth  the  Poles  ; 
And  Valour's  flame  shone  nobly  fann'd 

In  patriot  souls. 


Pol !  quam  tremendus  fulminat  aeneo 
Borussus  igni  !  non  ego  Livonum 
Pugnas  et  inconsulta  vitas 
Transierim  tua  Russe  signa  ! 


Large  be  our  allies'  meed  of  fame  ! 

Rude  Russia  to  the  rescue  came, 

From  land  of  frost,  with  brand  of  flame — 

A  glorious  horde  : 
Huge  havoc  here  these  bones  proclaim. 

Done  by  her  sword. 


Vobis  fugaces  vidi  ego  Bistonum 
Errare  lunas,  signaque  barbaris 

Direpta  vexillis  et  actam 

Retro  equitum  peditumque  nubem. 


Virtute  pugnant  non  numero  viri, 
Et  una  sylvam  saspius  erruit 
Bipennis,  et  paucse  sequuntur 
Innumeras  acquilae  columbas. 


Pale  and  aghast  the  crescent  fled, 
Joj'ful  we  clove  each  turbann'd  head. 
Heaping  with  holocausts  of  dead 

The  foeman's  camp  : 
Loud  echoed  o'er  their  gory  bed 

Our  horsemen's  tramp. 

A  hundred  trees  one  hatchet  hews  ; 
A  hundred  doves  one  hawk  pursues  ; 
One  Polish  gauntlet  so  can  bruise 

Their  miscreant  clay : 
As  well  the  kaliph  kens  who  rues 

That  fatal  day. 


Heu  quae  jacentum  strata  cadavera, 
Qualemque  vobis  ^Edonii  fuga, 
Campum  retexere  !     Hic  Polonam 
Mordet  adhuc  Ottomannus  hastam. 


What  though,  to  meet  the  tug  of  war, 
Osman  had  gather'd  from  afar 
Arab,  and  Sheik,  and  Hospodar, 

And  Turk,  and  Guebre, 
Quick  yielded  Pagan  scimitar 

"To  Christian  sabre. 


Hic  fusus  j'Emon,  hic  Arabum  manus 
Confixa  telis  ;  hic  Caracas  jacet 
Conopeis  subter  Lechorum, 
Non  bene  poUicitus  minaci 


Here  could  the  Turkman  turn  and  trace 
The  slaughter-tracks,  here  slowly  pace 
The  field  of  downfall  and  disgrace^ 

Where  men  and  horse, 
Thick  strewn,  encumbered  all  the  place 

With  frequent  corse. 


Coenam  tyranno.     Spes  nimias  Deus 
Plerumque  foedos  ducit  ad  exitus, 
Ridetque  gaudentem  superbum 
Immodicis  dare  vela  votis  ; 


Well  might  his  haughty  soul  repent 
That  rash  and  guilty  armament ; 
Weep  for  the  blood  of  nations  spent 

His  ruined  host  ; 
His  empty  arrogance  lamect. 

And  bitter  boast. 


Sic  forsan  olim  dextra  Polonica 

Cruore  inunget  littora  Bosphori 

Damnata  ;  nee  ponet  secures 

Donee  enmt  satures  ruin&." 


Sorrow,  derision,  scorn,  and  hate, 
Upon  the  proud  one's  footsteps  wait ; 
Both  in  the  field  and  in  the  gate 

Accursed,  abhorr'd  ; 
And  be  his  halls  made  desolate 

With  fire  and  sword  ! " 


Quo  me  canentem  digna  trahunt  equis 
Non  arma  tauris  ?    Sistite,  barbarae  ! 
Non  hsec  inurbana  Camoenae 
Bella  decet  memorare  buxo, 


Such  was  the  tale  Galeski  told. 
Calm  as  the  mighty  Danube  roll'd  ; 
And  well  I  ween  that  farmer  old. 

Who  held  a  plough. 
Had  fought  that  day  a  warrior  bold 

With  helmed  brow. 


334  ^'^^^  Works  of  Father  Front. 

Majore  quondam  quae  recinent  tuba  But  now  upon  the  glorious  stream 

Seri  nepotes  :  et  mea  jam  suis  The  sun  flung  out  his  parting  beam, 

Aratra  cum  bubus  reverti  The  soldier-swain  unyoked  his  team, 

Praecipiti  monet  axe  vesper.  Yet  still  he  chanted 

The  live-long  eve ; — and  glor}''s  dream 
His  pillow  haunted. 

So  exasperated,  we  may  add,  were  the  Janissaries  at  the  untoward  result  of 
the  campaign,  that  they  murdered  the  young  sultan  on  his  return  to  C.  P.  He 
was  the  sixteenth  leader  of  the  faithful,  counting  from  Mahomet,  but  the  first 
whose  life  terminated  in  that  tragical  manner;  albeit  such  an  event  since  then 
has  been  of  common  occurrence  on  the  banks  of  the  Bosphorus. 

In  the  year  1636  a  memorable  ceremony  took  place  at  the  university  of  Wilna. 
The  degree  of  "  doctor"  was,  with  unusual  pomp  and  unexampled  dVAz/,  con- 
ferred on  the  illustrious  poet,  in  presence  of  King  Wladislas  and  the  highest 
personages  of  the  realm,  who  had  flocked  thither  to  do  honour  to  their  distin- 
guished countryman.  The  thesis  was,  of  course,  a  display  of  singular  bril- 
liancy ;  and  so  pleased  was  his  royal  admirer  at  the  evidences  of  native  talent 
thus  afforded,  that  he  took  the  ring  from  his  own  finger,  and  begged  it  might 
be  used  in  the  ceremony  of  wedding  the  learned  bachelor  to  his  doctorial 
dignity.  That  ring  is  still  preserved  in  the  archives  of  Wilna,  and  is  used  to 
the  present  day  in  conferring  the  doctorate  per  anjtulum  on  the  students  of  the 
university. 

The  patronage  and  friendship  of  royalty  was  now  secured  to  Sarbiewski,  and 
Wladislas  insisted  on  his  accompanying  him  even  in  his  hunting  excursion.  I 
remember  in  one  of  the  epistles  of  Pliny,  addressed,  I  believe,  to  Tacitus,  a 
passage,  in  which  the  proconsul  invites  the  historian  to  partake  of  the  pleasures 
of  the  chase;  and  tells  him,  that  during  his  visit  to  the  moors  he  may  still 
prosecute  his  favourite  studies:  "  Experies,"  says  that  elegant  letter-writer, 
"  PalladefH  7ion  minus  libenter  veiiari  in  montibus  quam  Diana7n."  This 
appears  to  have  been  the  case  with  the  learned  Jesuit,  for  I  find  mention  made 
in  the  catalogue  of  his  works  of  a  collection  of  poems,  entitled  "  Silviludia,'" 
referring,  1  imagine,  to  the  woodland  achievements  of  the  northern  Nimrod ; 
but  I  have  not  met  with  the  book  itself.  He  also  appears  to  have  written  an  epic 
poem,  on  the  exploits  of  some  ancient  Polish  monarch  ("  Lechiados,"  lib.  xii.)  ; 
but  no  copy  of  it  has  fallen  into  my  hands.  Probably  it  may  be  classed  with 
the  "King  Arthur"  of  Sir  Richard  Blackmore,  the  "  Colonibiad"  of  Joshua  Bar- 
low, the  "  Charlemagne"  of  Lucien  Buonaparte,  and  many  other  modern  epics 
too  tedious  to  mention.  His  last  occupation  was  writing  a  commentary  on 
St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  before  the  termination  of  which  enterprise  he  died, 
A.D.  1640.     I  intend  writing  one  myself,  if  I  live  long  enough. 

Turn  we  now  to  the  second  name  on  our  list,  that  of  Jacobus  Actius  Sincerus 
a  Sto.  Xazaro,  vulgarly  called  (for  shortness)  Sannazar.  The  township  form- 
ing the  family  inheritance,  and  giving  its  name  to  this  poet,  is  situated  between 
the  Po  and  the  Tessino,  but  he  himself  was  born  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Vesu- 
vius, in  1458.  As  the  vine  ripens  quickly  on  that  volcanic  soil,  so  the  germs  of 
genius  were  rapidly  unfolded  in  the  Neapolitan  child;  and  not  only  do  we  find 
l;im,  like  Alexander  Pope,  "  lisping  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came,"  but, 
like  Dante  and  Byron,  falling  desperately  in  love  at  an  exceeding  early  period 
of  his  youthhood.  Every  one  has  heard  of  the  mysterious  Beatrice,  and  of  the 
ticuiXov  of  Byron's  boyish  adoration;  but  few  have  learned  to  pronounce  with 
sympathetic  tlevotion  the  name  of  Channosyni.  Whether  under  this  harmo- 
nious tetrasyllable  a  living  and  sentient  being  of  flesh  and  blood  was  in  the 
young  poet's  eye,  or  whether  a  mere  ideal  impersonation  of  metaphysical 
loveliness,  beyond  the  homely  reality  of  Earth's  corporeal  daughters,  haunted 
his  refined  and  sensitive  imagination,  lias  not  been  decided  by  his  biographers. 
But,  that  he  had  serious  thoughts  of  suicide,  and  other  lofty  notions,  at  a  time 


Modern  Latin  Poets,  335 

of  life  when  boys  in  England  are  accustomed  to  undergo  the  wholesome  process 
of  occasional  liagellation,  is  quite  evident,  and  ought  to  be  recorded  as  proof 
of  his  precocious  intellect.  Such  a  fact  would  be  invaluable  in  the  life  of  some 
German  quack-sentimentahst :  ex.gr.,  the  author  of  the  "  borrows  of  W'erter," 
or  "  Wilhelm  ^Sleisrer."  Whatever  may  have  been  the  object  of  this  morbid 
passion,  absence  from  Naples,  and  a  retreat  among  the  romantic  glens  of 
Salerno,  seem  not  to  have  proved  an  effectual  antispasmodic ;  for  we  finally 
find  him  flying  from  Italy  and  wandering  through  France,  where  he  wrote  a  book 
— the  very  best  thmg  a  disconsolate  lover  can  possibly  do  ;  which  production 
of  his  exile  is  known  by  the  same  name  as  the  work  of  our  own  euphuyst,  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  being  entitled  "Arcadia."  It  was  amazingly  popular  in  its  day 
throughout  Italy.  On  his  return  to  Naples  in  149:^,  I  find  no  further  allusion 
to  Charmosyne,  who,  if  a  mortal  beauty,  must  have  undergone  the  usual  pro- 
cess of  mortality,  or,  if  of  sylph-like  proportions  and  ethereal  essence,  perished 
in  some  different  way  ;  for  which  he  might  console  himself  with  the  hnes  of 
Pope,  in  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  :  " 

"  Before  the  fatal  engine  closed, 
A  wretched  sylph  too  fondly  interposed  ; 
Fate  urged  the  shears,  and  cut  the  sylph  in  twain  : 
Bid  airy  S2ibsta7ice  soo7i  ■unites  agaiti." 

Canto  iii.  150. 

He  now  appeared  in  a  new  character,  that  of  farce-writer  to  the  court,  which, 
being  principally  composed  of  Spanish  hidalgos  (a  branch  of  the  Madrid 
family,  holding  at  that  period  the  sovereignty  of  the  Two  Sicilies),  must  have 
been  naturally  pleased  at  the  subjects  selected  by  him  for  dramatic  illustration  ; 
Viz.,  the  "Conquest  of  Grenada."  and  the  "Fall  of  the  ^Moors."  These 
comedies  are  written  inthe  low  slang  of  the  lazzaroni,  and,  though  well  received 
on  their  first  appearance,  have  fallen  into  complete  oblivion. 

He  ne.xt  took  to  the  sword,  and  joined  his  royal  patron's  army  in  an  inroad 
which  it  pleased  the  King  of  Naples  (a  vassal  of  the  holy  see)  to  make  on  the 
patrimony  of  St.  Peter.  The  church  was  then  disgraced  by  the  pontificate  of 
the  ruffian  Alexander,  and  the  atrocities  of  his  hopeful  nephew,  Cassar  Borgia ; 
nevertheless  the  gallant  Ludovico  Sforza  (aided  by  the  French  under  Charles 
VIII.,  who  came  to  the  rescue  of  the  pontifical  monster)  drove  the  invaders 
out  of  the  ecclesiastical  state,  and,  taking  the  offensive,  soon  rolled  back  the 
tide  of  war  into  the  enemy's  territory,  and  swept  the  Spanish  dynasty  from  the 
throne.  Faithful  in  adversity  to  the  fallen  prince  whose  patronage  he  had 
experienced  in  prosperous  days,  Sannazar  became  the  companion  of  his 
banishment,  and  travelled  with  him  through  Spain  and  Southern  France.  It 
was  at  this  time  that  he  formed  a  friendship  with  the  famous  Gonzalvo  of 
Cordova.  On  the  restoration  of  the  exiled  house  to  the  throne  of  Naples, 
Frederick,  who  succeeded  Ferdinand  II.,  conferred  on  his  faithful  adherent 
the  villa  of  Margellina,  in  the  vicinity  of  that  delightful  capital ;  and  it  was 
in  the  rural  repose  of  this  suburban  retreat  that  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  Latin  poetry. 

Of  the  reputation  which  these  compositions  obtained  for  him  at  the  revival 
of  classic  taste  throughout  Europe,  an  adequate  idea  may  be  collected  from 
the  epitaph  written  on  his  tomb  by  Cardinal  Bembo,  a  rival  in  the  same  walk 
of  hterature  : 

"  DA   SACRO   CINERI    FLORES  !    HIC    ILLE   MARONI 
SANNAZARUS   MUSA   PROXIMUS   UT   TU.MULO." 

And,  undoubtedly,  no  two  sepulchres  could  be  more  approximately  placed  in 
juxtaposition  on  the  romantic  promontory  of  Pausilippe.  The  grand  poem  of 
Sannazar,    "  De  partu  Virginia",  which  occupied  twenty  years  of  his  hfe,   is 


replete  with  evidence  of  a  fine  imagination  and  exquisite  perception  of 
rhythmic  melody,  surpassing  in  both  these  respects  the  otherwise  elaborate 
production  of  Vi'da  on  a  similar  subject  (Christiados,  lib.  xii.).  Every  passage 
in  this  highly  polished  epic  furnishes  abundant  proofs  of  genuine  poetic  feehng  ; 
but  as  I  must  select  some  few  lines  to  warrant  my  judgment  of  the  composi- 
tion, I  will  content  myself  with  the  following  extract,  which  refers  to  the 
arrival  of  St.  Joseph  and  the  Virgin  at  Bethlehem  :  it  is  preceded  by  a  magni- 
ficent description  of  the  census  ordered  to  be  taken  throughout  the  Roman 
empire  by  Augustus  Caesar,  when  "  all  went  to  be  taxed,  every  one  m  his  own 
city." — Luke,  chap.  ii. 

"  Nee  minus  et  casta  senior  cum  virgine  custos 
Ibat  ut  in  patria  nomen  de  more  genusque 
Ederet,  et  jussum  non  segnis  penderet  aurum  ; 
I  He  domum  antiquam  et  regnata  parentibus  ar^-a 
Invisens,  secum  proavos  ex  ordine  reges 
Claraque  facta  ducum  pulchramque  ab  engine  gentem 
Mente  recensebat  tacita,  numerumque  suorum, 
Quamvis  tunc  pauper,  quamvis  incognitus  ipsis 
Agnatis,  longe  adveniens  explere  parabat. 
Tum  fines  Galilaea  tuos  emensus  et  imas 
Carmeli  valles,  quseque  altus  yertice  opacat 
Rura  Thabor,  sparsamque  jugis  Samaritida  terram 
Palmiferis  ; — Solymas  e  laeva  liquerat  arces 
Cum  simul  e  tumulo  muros  et  tecta  domorum 
Prospexit,  patriaeque  agnovit  moenia  terrae  ; 
Continuo  lachrymis  urbem  veneratur  obortis, 
Intenditque  manus,  et  ab  imo  pectore  fatur. 

Bethlemia;  turres  I  et  non  obscura  meorum 
Regna  patrum,  magnique  olim  salvete  penates  ! 
Tuque  O  terra  !  parens  regum,  visuraque  regem 
Cui  Sol  et  gemini  famulentur  cardinis  axes, 
Salve  iterum  !     Te  vana  Jovis  cunabula  Crete 
Horrescet  ponetque  suos  temeraria  fastus  ; 
Parva  loquor  I  prono  veniet  diademate  supplex 
Ilia  potens  rerum  terrarumque  inclyta  Roma, 
Atque  orbis  dominam  submittet  ad  oscula  frontem  ! " 

Lib.  iL  236. 

There  is,  however,  a  very  strange  want  of  tact  in  the  constant  obtrusion  of 
pagan  mythology,  with  its  fabulous  and  profane  nomenclature,  throughout  the 
course  of  this  poem  :  a  defect,  indeed,  wliich  vitiates  most  of  the  sacred  poetry 
of  that  period.  It  was  a  remnant  of  the  old  mysteries  and  of  that  solemn 
buffoonery  which  had  been  so  long  tolerated  as  to  give,  perhaps,  no  offence  to 
contemporary  taste,  however  fastidious  the  world  has  since  grown  in  the  matter 
of  religious  minstrelsy.  It  would  certainly  be  very  hard  to  justify  the  following 
allusion  to  old  Silenus  and  to  the  Rape  of  Europa,  apropos  of  the  ox  and  the 
ass  who  figured  at  the  crib  of  Bethlehem  : 

"  Protiniis  agnoscens  dominum  procumbit  humi  bos, 
Cernuus  et  mora  nulla  simul  procumbit  asellus, 
Submittens  caput  et  trepidant!  poplite  adorat ; 
Forinnati  ambo  .'  non  vos  ant  fabula  Cretae 
Polluet  antiqui  referens  mendacia  furti 
Sidoniam  mare  per  medium  vexisse  puellam  ; 
Aut  sua  dum  madidus  celebret  portenta  Cithaeron 
Infames  inter  thyasos  vinosaque  sacra, 
Arguet  obsequio  senis  insudasse  profani." 

Lib.  ii.  360. 

This  odd  jumble  of  the  gospel  history  with  pagan  imaginings  was  not  con- 


Modern  Latin  Poets.  337 

fined  to  the  poets ;  it  was  in  vogue  even  among  the  writers  of  a  more  serious 
class,  and  was  only  eventually  scouted  by  the  satiric  pen  of  Erasmus,  espe- 
cially in  his  production  entitled  "  Ciceronianus."  The  papal  secretary.  Cardinal 
Bem'bo,  in  his  zeal  for  i|/£uoo-classic  purity  of  diction,  made  no  scruple  of  intro- 
ducing"/^^^  ^^•^•^^  ^''^''^^'^'^''^^■^■"  ^^  ^^  ^^^^^^^  ^^'l^^^'-  ^°  ^^■'^  Venetian  republic 
concerning  some  points  of  church  discipline.  And  our  "Lady  of  Loretto  " 
was  unscrupulously  termed,  in  some  of  the  bulls  of  that  period,  ''  Dea 
Lauretdiia  f"  —iheAoxm  of  ecclesiastical  excommunication  being  expressed  in 
a  manner  equally  ludicrous  :  "  Ab  aqu<l  et  igni  intcrdicatur." 

From  the  pen'of  Sannazar,  besides  this  epic,  we  have  three  books  of  elegies, 
two  of  Ivrical  and  miscellaneous  poetry,  and  the  six  piscatorial  eclogues  on 
which  his  fame  principally  rests.  Most  of  the  elegies  are  addressed  to  the 
friends  who  cheered  the  calm  evening  of  his  days,  and  frequent  allusions  occur 
to  the  delightful  residence  of  the  villa  Morgellina,  the  gift  of  his  royal  bene- 
factor.    Here  is  a  sample  of  the  poet's  sentiments  and  versification  : 

DE  FOXTE   STL   NAZARI,    IN  FUNDO   SUBURBANO  MEO. 

Est  mihi  rivo  vitreus  perenni  Phoebus  illuxit,  pariterque  dias 

Pons  arenosum  prope  littus,  iinde  Hausimus  auras. 

Saepe  discedens  sibi  nauta  rores 

Haurit  amicos.  Hac  et  insigni  peragenda  ritu 

Sacra  solemnes  veniunt  ad  aras, 
Unicus  nostris  scatet  ille  ripis  Nazari  unde  omnes  tituli  mea^que 

Montis  immenso  sitiente  tractu,  Nomina  gentis. 

Vitifer  qua  Pausllipus  vadosum  ex- 

Currit  in  sequor.  Hinc  ego  grata  scopulorum  in  umbra 

Rusticum  parvis  statui  columnis 
Hunc  ego  vitta  redemitus  alba,  Nazaro  fanum,  simul  et  sacravi 

Flore,  et  aestivis  veneror  coronis,  Nomine  fontem. 

Cum  timent  amnes  et  hiulca  ssevum 

Arva  leonem.  O  decus  cneli !  simul  et  tuorum 

Rite  quem  parva  veneramur  aede 
Antequam  festae  redeant  calendae_  Cui  frequentandas  populis  futuris 

Fortis  Augusti,  superantque  patri  Ponimus  aras. 

Quatuor  luces  mihi  tempus  onmi 

Dulcius  aevo.  Accipe  sestivam,  nova  serta,  citrum  ! 

Et  mihi  longos  liceat  per  annos,_ 
Bis  mihi  sa/ictum,  mihi  bis  vocandum,  Hie  tuum  castis  sine  fraude  votis 

Bis  celebrandum  potiore  cultu,  Poscere  numen. 

Duplici  voto,  geminaque  semper 

Thuris  acerra.  Si  mihi  primes  generis  parentes, 

Si  mihi  lucem  pariter  dedisti. 
Namque  ab  extreme  properans  Eoo  Hiic  age  et  fontem  tibi  dedicatum 

Hac  die  primum  mihi  vagienti  Saepe  revise. 

THE  FOUNTAIN   OF   ST.  NAZARO. 

There's  a  fount  at  the  foot  of  Pausilippe's  hill. 

Springing  up  on  our  bay's  sunny  margin, 
And  the  mariner  lovelh  his  vessel  to  fill 

At  this  fount,  of  which  I  am  the  guardian.^ 
'Tis  the  gem  of  my  villa,  the  neighbourhood's  boast, 

And  with  pleasure  and  pride  I  preserve  it  ; 
For  alone  it  wells  out,  while  the  vine-cover 'd  coast 

In  the  summer  lies  panting  and  fervid. 

"When  the  plains  are  all  parch'd,  and  the  rivers  run  low. 

Then  a  festival  comes  1  love  dearly  : 
Here,  with  goblet  in  hand,  my  devotion  I  show 

To  the  day  of  my  birth  that  comes  yearly. 


33S  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 


'Tis  the  feast  of  my  patron,  Nazaro  the  Saint  : 

Nor  for  aught  that  fond  name  would  I  barter  : 
To  this  fount!  have  fix'd  that  fond  name,  to  acquaint 

All  mankind  with  my  love  for  the  martyr. 

He's  the  tutelar  Genius  of  me  and  of  mine. 

And  to  honour  the  saints  is  my  motto  ; 
Unto  him  I  devoted  a  well,  and  a  shrine 

Unto  him  I  have  built  in  the  grotto. 
There  his  altar  devoutly  with  shells  I  have  deck'd — 

I  have  deck'd  it  with  crystal  and  coral  ; 
And  have  strew'd  all  the  pavement  with  branches  select 

Of  the  myrtle,  the  pine,  and  the  laurel. 

By  the  brink  of  this  well  will  I  banquet  the  day 

Of  my  feast,  on  its  yearly  recurring  ; 
Then  at  eve,  when  the  bonny  breeze  wrinkles  the  bay, 

And  the  leaves  of  the  citron  are  stirring, 
To  my  peaceable  villa  before  I  repair. 

To  the  Father  of  Mercy  addressing, 
In  a  spirit  of  thankfulness,  gratitude's  prayer, 

I'll  invoke  on  his  creatures  a  blessing. 

And  long  may  the  groves  of  Pausilippe  shade. 

By  this  fount,  holy  martyr,  thy  client  : 
Thus  long  may  he  bless  them  for  bountiful  aid, 

And  remain  on  thy  bounty  reliant. 
To  thy  shrine  shall  the  maids  of  Parthenope  bring 

Lighted  tapers,  in  yearly  procession  ; 
While  the  pilgrim  hereafter  shall  visit  this  spring. 

To  partake  of  the  Saint's  intercession  ! 

His  pastoral  poetry,  to  which  I  have  already  adverted,  has  obtained  him 
great  celebrity;  if  pastoral  it  may  be  called,  since  it  chiefly  refers  to  the  bay  of 
Naples,  and  the  manners,  customs,  and  loves  of  the  fishermen  who  ply  on  that 
romantic  basin.  There  was  the  charm  of  novelty,  however,  in  the  idea  of 
viaritujie  eclogues  ;  and  the  same  freshness  of  imagery  which  gave  a  sort  of 
vogue  to  the  Oriental  pastorals  of  Collins,  rendered  attractive  in  this  case  an 
otherwise  dull  and  somniferous  sort  of  composition.  Few  can  relish  such  stuff 
as  lackadaisical  shepherds  and  other  twaddling  interlocutors  pour  forth  in  the 
ordinary  class  of  bucolics,  but  Sannazar  called  up  new  spirits  from  the  vasty 
deep,  and  reinvigorated  the  imbecile  muse  of  the  eclogue.  The  crook  was 
happilv  exchanged  for  the  fishing-rod,  and  well-replenished  nets  were  sub- 
stituted for  bleating  folds.  On  looking  over  these  pastorals,  I  just  now  alight 
on  an  odd  idea  attributed  by  the  poet  to  a  Neapolitan  fisherman,  but  which,  on 
consideration,  will  be  pronounced  a  very  natural  one,  respecting  the  phenomena 
of  ocean-tides.  The  Mediterranean  being  exempt  from  the  moon's  influence  in 
this  respect,  the  lazzaroni  waterman  may  be  excused  for  puttmg  forth  the 
following  theory  : 

"  Et  quae  caeruleos  procul  aspicit  ora  Britannos, 
Qua  (nisi  vana  ferunt)  quoties  maris  undaresedit 
Indigena;  captant  nudos  per  littora  pisces." 

The  ebbing  and  flowing  of  the  tide  would,  doubtless,  have  furnished  the  early 
Greek  and  Roman  poets  with  abundant  moral  and  poetical  allusion,  had  they 
such  a  transition  constantly  before  their  eyes  as  we  have ;  and  I  make  no 
apology  for  noticing  in  this  place  a  flagrant  robbery  of  Tom  Moore,  who  has 
unscrupulously  m.-ide  use  of  a  French  author's  ideas  on  this  topic,  and  trans- 
ferred the  whole  iiiece  into  his  "  Melodies."     Ex.  gr.  : 


VERSES    WRITTEN   BY    FOXTENELLE   IN   THE  ALBUM 
OF  NINON   DE   L'ENCLOS. 

"  Je  voyais  du  rivage,  au  lever  de  I'aurore, 

Un  esquif  sur  les  flots,  qui  voguait  tout  joyeux ; 
Je  ravins  sur  le  soir...il  y  etait  encore, 

Mais,  helas  !  delaisse  par  le  flot  dedaigneux. 

Je  me  suis  dit  alors  :  '  C'est  I'esquif  du  bel  age, 
C'est  le  flot  du  bonheur  qui  le  berce  au  matin ; 

Mais  la  barque  au  reflux  reste  ici  sur  la  plage, 
Et  voila  du  plaisir  I'ephemere  destin  I 

On  m'a  vante  la  paix  et  la  gloire  finale, 

Qai  courronnent  le  sage  au  declin  de  ses  jours  ; 

Mais,  O  dieux  !  rendez-moi  la  fraicheur  matinale, 
La  rosee  et  les  pleurs  de  mes  premiers  amours. 

Qui  me  rendra  ce  tems  d'ineffables  delices,  _ 
Oil  mon  coeur  s'exhalait  en  amoureux  desirs  ; 

Comme  un  bois  d'Arabie  aux  pieux  sacrifices, 
Qui  s'immole  en  jettant  de  parfumes  soupirs  ! ' " 

MOORE'S   TRANSLATION. 

"  I  saw  from  the  beach,  when  the  morning  was  shining, 
A  bark  o'er  the  waters  move  gloriously  on_;  _ 
I  came  to  that  beach  when  the  sun  was  declining. 
The  bark  was  still  there,  but  the  waters  were  gone. 

Ah,  such  is  the  type  of  our  life's  early  promise  ! 

So  passing  the  spring-tide  of  joy  we  have  known  ! 
Everj'  wave  that  we  danced  on  at  morning  ebbs  from  us, 

And  leaves  us  at  eve  on  the  cold  beach  alone. 

Ne'er  tell  me  of  glories  serenely  adorning 

The  close  of  our  day,  the  calm  eve  of  our  night  ; 

Give  me  back,  give  me  back,  the  bright  freshness  of  morning  ! 
Her  smiles  and  her  tears  are  worth  evening's  best  light. 

Ah  !  who  would  not  welcome  that  moment's  returning. 
When  passion  first  woke  a  new  life  through  his  frame, 

And  his  soul,  like  the  wood  that  grows  precious  in  burning. 
Gave  out  all  its  sweets  to  love's  exquisite  flame  ?  " 

Little  else  remains  to  be  said  of  Sannazar,  who  died  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
two,  on  the  margin  of  that  delicious  bay  where  he  had  judiciously  pitched  his 
teni  towards  the  close  of  a  long  and  adventurous  career,  and  where  he  had 
surrounded  himself  with  all  that  can  make  existence  pleasant— the  charms 
of  friendship,  the  pursuits  of  hterature,  and  the  consolations  of  religion, 
A.D.  1530. 

Jerome  Fracastor,  like  the  two  who  have  preceded  him  in  the  course  of  this 
essay,  was  the  offspring  of  noble  parentage,  and  saw  the  light  at  Verona  m 
1483.  A  singular  feature  remarked  in  him  on  his  first  appearance  in  this 
clamorous  and  noisv  world,  was  the  anatomical  raricy  of  a  mouth  so  her- 
meticallv  sealed,  and  of  lips  so  perfectly  adhering  to  each  -other,  as  to  require 
the  surgeon's  bistouri  to  make  an  aperture  for  vocal  sounds  and  respiration. 
Not  less  extraordinarv  was  a  subsequent  occurrence  in  the  historj'  cf  his  child- 
hood. One  dav,  wli'ile  in  the  arms  of  his  mother,  the  electric  fluid  during  a 
thunder-storm  was  pleased  to  deprive  the  parent  of  life,  leaving  the  infant  poet 


340  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

unscathed  and  untouched  by  the  fatal  visitation.  At  the  early  age  of  nineteen 
he  had  already  acquired  such  distinction  in  the  more  sequestered  walks  of 
study,  that  he  was  deemed  fit  to  fill  the  chair  of  logic  at  the  brilliant  university 
of  Padua.  Having  embraced  the  medical  profession,  he  quickly  attained 
eminence  in  the  healing  art  :  and  such  was  the  splendour  of  his  name  through- 
out Italy,  that  he  was  summoned  to  Rome  and  invested  with  the  post  cf 
aoyj.aroo'i,  or  state-physician  to  Pope  Paul  III.  It  was  in  this  capacity 
that  he  attended  the  Council  of  Trent,  and  there  maintained  the  ascendency  of 
genius,  for  on  the  appearance  in  1547  of  certain  symptoms  of  a  contagious  dis- 
temper in  that  neighbourhood,  the  physician  waved  his  wand,  dissolved  the 
meeting  of  the  oecumenical  fathers,  and  ordered  them  to  transfer  their  labours 
to  the  more  salubrious  city  of  Bologna ;  which  mandate  was  at  once  obeyed 
by  that  illustrious  assembly,  deeply  and  duly  impressed  with  the  wisdom  of 
Fracastor.  He  died  in  1553,  at  the  advanced  age  of  ^eventy  ;  beyond  which, 
according  to  the  Psalmist,  there  is  nothing  but  trouble,  dulness,  and  driveUing. 
Old  Talleyrand  is,  however,  an  exception. 

To  speak  of  the  works  of  our  poet  is  now  the  difficulty  ;  periculosce  plenum 
opus  alecB :  for  his  principal,  if  not  his  only  claim  to  renown  as  a  writer,  is 
founded  on  a  didactic  poem,  of  which  the  very  name  cannot  be  breathed  to  ears 
polite.*  We  may,  however,  indicate  the  subject  on  which  his  muse,  oddly 
enough,  has  chosen  to  expatiate  with  all  the  naivete  of  unsophisticated  genius, 
by  stating  that  it  bears  some  analogy  to  the  commentaries  of  Julius  Caesar, 
"  De  Bello  Gallico."     Perhaps  the  opening  lines  will  be  more  explanatory  : 

"  Qui  casus  rerum  varii,  quae  semina  morbum. 
Insuetum  nee  longa  uUi  per  saecula  visum 
Attulerint  ;  nostra  qui  tempestate  per  omr.em 
Europam,  partemque  Asiae,  Lybyaeque  per  urbes 
Sscviit  ;  in  Latium  vero  per  tristia  bella 
Gallorum  irrupit,  nomenque  a  gente  recepit : 
Hinc  canere  incipiam.     Naturae  suavibus  horti 
Floribus  invitant  et  amantes  mira  Camosnae  !" 

I  regret  exceedingly  that  the  fastidiousness  of  modem  taste  does  not  allow 
me  to  enter  on  a  critical  dissection  of  this  extraordinary  work,  in  which  there  is 
a  mar\-ellou5  display  of  inventive  ingenuity,  of  exuberant  fancy,  great  medical 
skill,  and  great  masterdom  over  the  technical  terms  of  the  art,  so  as  to  blend 
them  with  the  smooth  current  of  poesy.  The  episodes  are  particularly  deserv- 
ing of  commendation,  and  the  whole  performance  stamps  the  author  as  a  man 
of  superior  accomplishments  and  high  philosophy.  But  the  subject  is  intract- 
able; and,  though  folks  may  write  about  the  devil  himself,  and  compose  a  poem 
on  Satan,  they  may  not  approach  a  matter  like  this  of  Fracastor.  Let  it  be 
taken  for  granted,  then,  that  he  is  a  poet,  and  one  of  very  distinguished  rank, 
among  the  modern  cultivators  of  Latin  versification. 

He  was  not  the  first  who  adopted  this  metrical  method  of  conveying  medical 
theories  :  the  school  of  Salerno,  in  the  eleventh  centur}',  had  clothed  their  pre- 
cepts in  verse;  and  the  distichs  of  the  "  Schola  Salernitana"  were  long  quoted 
with  reverence  by  the  faculty.  They  are  addressed  to  Robert  of  Normandy, 
who  stopped  at  Salerno,  on  his  return  from  the  Holy  Land,  to  get  his  arm  cured 
of  an  issue ;  and  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  take  possession  of  the  throne  of 
England,  he  is  saluted  as  king  in  the  opening  of  the  book,  though  he  never 
lived  to  sway  the  sceptre  of  these  islands  : 

"  Anglorum  regi  scribit  Schola  tota  Salemi,"  &c. 

We  have  no  remnant  of  similar  practice  among  modem  physicians,  except  the 

*  Old  Prout  appears  rather  squeamish  in  this  matter :  Lady  Blessington  has  had  no 
scruple  in  dwelling  on  the  praises  of  Fracastor  in  her  last  novel,  "  The  Two  Friends," 
vol.  iii.  p.  210. — O.  Y. 


Modern  Latiii  Poets.  341 

solitary  instance  of  a  well-known  distich,  perpetrated  on  the  label  of  a  phial 

by  some  tuneful  apothecary  : 


WHEN   TAKEN', 

TO   BE   WELL   SHAKEN. 


And  which,  being  wrongly  interpreted  by  the  attendants  of  an  elderly  gentle- 
man— they  applying  it  to  the  patient,  not  to  the  liquid — brought  on  a  fatal 
catastrophe  :  they  shook  the  old  man  to  death,  as  related  in  full  by  Joe  Miller, 
chap.  xliv.  page  2461. 


342  The  Works  of  FatJier  Proitt. 


XVIII. 

oirmx  l^atin  ^otts* 

{Fraser's  Magazine,  October,  1835.) 


-0 — 


[Croquis'  etching  in  the  number  of  Frascr  containing  this  third  and  concluding 
chapter  by  Prout  on  the  Modern  Latin  Poets  was  the  Hkeness  of  one  whom  Lord 
Balling  some  years  afterwards  well  described  as  typically  "  The  Contentious  Man," 
William  Cobbett,  author  of  the  "Political  Register."  The  whimsical  incongruity  of 
paper  and  portrait  is  hardly  to  be  realized  without  a  glance  back  at  that  presentation  to 
view  of  Maclise's  vera  effigies  of  Peter  Porcupine  cheek-by-jowl  with  Mahony's  dis- 
quisition upon  Theodore  Beza,  Jacques  Vanifere,  and  Geordie  Buchanan.] 


CHAPTER  III,— Theodore  Beza,  Father  Vaniere,  George 

Buchanan. 

"Tros  Rutulusve  fuat  nullo  discrimine  habebo." 

yE>ieid,  lib.  x. 

"  Je  ne  decide  pas  entre  Geneve  et  Rome." 

Henriade,  cant,  ii.  v.  6. 

Prout  conjures  up  three  ghosts,  to  sup  to-night  on  a  red-herring  ; 
These  ghostly  guests  he  interests,  of  the  art  they  loved  conferring  : 
With  a  cordial  greet  the  Jesuit  hails  the  two  other  gemmen — 
The  cannie  Scot,  and  the  Huguenot,  from  the  borders  of  Lake  Leman. 

O.  V. 

The  character  of  our  sacerdotal  luminary  gradually  unfolding  itself  in  each 
successive  essay,  is,  we  imagine,  by  this  time  fully  developed  ;  and  the  contem- 
plative eve  hiis  long  since  scanned  every  feature  in  the  physiognomy  of  liis 
mind.  Nay,  the  very  lineaments  of  his  face,  the  exact  contour  of  liis  coun- 
tenance, the  outlines  of  his  very  visage,  must,  at  this  stage  of  the  business,  be 
familiar  to  the  fancy  of  those  who  (like  ourselves)  have  been  debarred  the 
privilege  of  personal  acquaintanceship  with  the  pastor  of  W.  G.  Hill.*  The 
public,  we  venture  to  afifirm,  hath  conceived  as  satisfactory  an  idea  of  his  out- 
ward man,  though  depictured  by  the  mere  crayon  of  imagination,  as  if  we  had 
gone  to  the  vast  trouble  and  expense  of  a  woodcut  to  grace  the  cover  of  our 
Magazine;  and  had  there  ostensibly  hung  him  out  in  efhgy,  sign-board  fashion, 
looking  unutterable  things  from  a'circling  festoon  of  watercresses  and  laurel. 
Albeit  we  have  not  yet  discarded  all  notion  of  bringing  Prout's  head  to  "the 


block"  (a  threat  which  we  may  put  into  execution  some  of  these  days),  still 
we  are  quite  confident  that  his  writings  have  already  furnished  so  graphic  a 
portraiture  of  their  author,  that  any  pictorial  attempt  would  only  be  a  gilding 
of  refined  gold,  and  a  painting  of  the  lily.  Some  faces  are  necessarily 
characteristic  of  the  mind,  and,  vice  versl,  some  minds  so  essentially  associated 
v.iih  a  corresponding  facial  index,  that  there  can  be  (to  use  the  memorable 
word  of  Wellington)  "no  mistake."  \\'here  is  the  bat  so  blind  as  not  to 
recognize  in  the  duke's  eye  and  beak  the  eagle  of  Torres  Vedras,  the  condor 
of  Seringapatam  ?  WTio  sees  not  at  a  glance  the  ruffian  Radical  in  the  phiz 
of  Fieschi?  What  better  "illustration  "  could  even  M 'Crone  get  for  a  new 
edition  of  Goldsmith  than  Brougham's  head  as  the  rueful  schoolmaster  of  the 
"deserted  village ? "     Have  not  the  Lords,  during  the  whole  session, 

"Learnt  to  trace 
The  night's  disasters  in  his  evening  face  ?  " 

Speaking  of  which  last  remarkable  object,  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Norton  has  of  late 
been  heard  to  declare  that  it  always  reminded  her  of  "an  abridgment  of 
profane  historj'."     What  can  she  mean? 

Our  reason  for  thus  adverting  to  heads  may  be  understood  at  once  by  a 
reference  to  certain  craniological  proceedings,  reported  to  have  taken  place  in 
Dublin.  Every  one  who  has  read  the  paper,  published  by  us  in  July,  1834, 
entitled  "Swift's  Madness;  a  Tale  of  a  Chum,"  must  know  that  Prout's 
parents  were  the  Dean  and  the  accomplished  Stella.  Those  two  high 
authorities,  Mr.  Burke,  the  genealogist,  and  Sir  William  Betham,  Ulster  king- 
at-arms,  have  admitted  the  fact.  Now  it  appears  that  a  "  scientific  association" 
(a  show  got  up  somewhat  on  the  principle  of  Wombwell's  travelhng  menagerie) 
hath  been  recently  visiting  the  Irish  capital ;  and  this  impersonation  of  fair 
Science,  having  played  her  antics  there  for  the  amusement  of  an  enlightened 
pubhc,  in  return  for  sundry  capers  exhibited  in  the  Rotunda,  hath  requested 
(out-Heroding  Herodias  !)  ttiat  the  skulls  of  Swift  and  Stella  should  be  pre- 
sented on  a  charger  for  her  inspection.  The  result  of  the  phrenological 
inquest  is  announced  to  be  the  discover)'  of  "  the  organ  of  coTubativeness"  in 
Prout's  father  "very  large;"  that  of  "  desfriiciivetiess"  equally  Brobding- 
nagian  ;  "'wit"  being  at  a  very  low  mark — "imperceptible."  We  cannot  let 
this  pass  without  comment.  Several  other  matter;,  to  be  sure,  deserve  notice 
in  these  Dublin  doings  :  such,  for  instance,  as  the  jury  of  medical  matrons 
impanelled  to  report  on  the  hip-bone  of  poor  Charley  Mathews ;  and  Dinny 
Lardner's  grand  lecture,  so  clearly  demonstrative  of  what  wonders  may  be 
still  achieved  with  the  jaw-bone  of  an  ass.  But  are  not  all  these  things  written 
in  the  Athenceuni  ?    To  it  we  refer. 

Our  object  in  alluding  to  these  "transactions"  at  all  is  simply  to  put  the 
public  on  its  guard  against  the  imphed  insinuation  that  Prout  inherited  from 
the  Dean  these  rt>W(^cz^/zr  and  fl'6'i-/r//r//cr  bumps,  along  with  the  "  im.percep- 
tible  "  share  of  wit  which  we  are  willing  to  admit  fell  to  his  lot,  and  formed 
indeed  (with  a  lock  of  Stella's  hair)  his  sole  patrimony.  There  is  not  a  word 
of  truth  in  the  vile  innuendo.  Mild  and  tolerant,  ever  ready  to  make  allowance 
for  other  people's  prejudices,  sympathizing  with  all  mankind,  there  was  not  an 
atom  of  pugnacity  in  his  composition ;  we  are  confident  that,  had  an  autopsia 
taken  place  at  his  death,  the  gall-bladder  would  have  been  found  empty.  He 
was  particularly  free  from  that  epidemic  disease  which  has  ever  raged  among 
clergj'men  of  all  persuasions,  and  for  the  eradication  of  which  no  nostrum  has 
been  as  yet  discovered — we  mean  the  scur\-y  disorder  called,  by  Galen,  Odium 
Theologicum.  This  virulent  and  immedicable  distemper  could  never  make 
the  slightest  inroad  on  his  constitution.  To  his  brethren  of  the  cloth  he 
recommended  hterary  application,  as    the  best   remedial  regimen  and  most 


344  1^^^^  Works  of  FatJier  Prout. 

likely  presen'ative  against  the  contagion  of  polemics,  without  going  so  far  as 
to  pronounce  the  hdles  lettres  a  complete  and  effectual  prophylactic ;  still  it  was 
one  of  his  innocent  superstitions,  that  the  Castalian  spring  possessed  an 
efficacy  somewhat  akin  to  the  properties  which  TertuUian  ascribes  to  "holy 
water,"  and  that,  like  the  "aqua  lustralis,"  it  could  equally  banish  evil  spirits, 
chase  ghouls  and  vampires,  and  lay  the  ghost  of  bygone  dissension  wherever 
it  was  sprinkled. 

Having  thus  fairly  disposed  of  the  "  combati%-e  bump,"  and  put  our  adver- 
saries, as  far  as  that  goes,  totally  hors  de  combat,  we  pass  to  the  "  destructive" 
protuberance,  which,  it  is  hinted,  Swift  transferred  to  his  venerable  child.     Ye 
gods  !  Prout  a  destructive  !      No,  no,    the  padre  had   too  innate  a  sense  of 
propriety,  and  had  too  much  gentle  blood  in  his  veins,  to  exhibit  himself  in  the 
character  of  a  priestly  sansculotte  ;  and  Vinegar  Hill  was  not  the  mount  on 
which  he  paid  his  political  adorations.     Like  Edmund  Burke,  he  wished  to  see 
"  no  ruin  on  the  face  of  the  land."     His  youthful  reminiscences  of  the  Jacobin 
Club,  of  Marat,  of  Danton,  and  of  Santerre  (who,  by  the  bye,  like  Dan,  kept 
a  brewery),  had  given  a  conservative  tone  to  his  feelings.      He  was  deeply 
distrustful  of  mere  empirical  experiment  on  the  social  body,  and  experience 
had  taught  him  the  striking  truth,  rather  bluntly  expressed  by  the  pious  and 
sagacious  Dr.  Johnson,  that  ''patriotism  "  was  the  last  refuge  of  scoundrels. 
This  he  believed  to  hold  good  from  Wat  Tyler  and  Jack  Straw  to  the  leaders 
of  the  Birmingham  Union,  the  "Trades"  and  the  "  Corn  Exchange;  "  from 
Alderman  Wilkes  to  Laricet  Wakley;   from   Robespierre  to   Roebuck;  from 
the  "  Assignats"  to  Hume's  "Greek  Bonds"  and  O'Connell's   "  Bank."     As 
for  the  lay  abbot  of  Derrynane  "Abbey,"  he  had  watched  his  early  proceed- 
ings with  a  certain  degree  of  interest,  and  from  some  memoranda  in  the  chest 
had  actually,  it  appears,  entertained  at  one  time  a  belief  in  the  lad's  political 
honesty ;   but  we  find  that  he  soon  smoked  the  swindling  charlatan,  when  the 
accounts  of  "the  Catholic  Association  "  began  to  get  somehow  "unaccount- 
ably mixed  up  "  with  his  own  balances  in  the  bankers  ledger  ;  which  mistake, 
we  believe,  happened  as  early  as  1827  :  and  Front's  prophetic  eye  foresaw  at 
once  the  lawyer's  bag  distending  itself,  by  a  miraculous  process,  into  the  sub- 
sequent giant  dimensions  of  the  beggar's  wallet.     Not  that  he  questioned  the 
right  which  every  public  performer,  from  Punch  and  Judy  up  to   Paganini, 
most  undoubtedly  possesses  to  send  round  the  hat  or  the  wig  for  "  voluntary 
contributions;  "  but  the  bludgeon  system,  the  theory  of  "cross  bones,"  the 
chapel-door  profanation,  the  mixture  of  bullying  and  blarney  employed  in  the 
collection  of  these  coppers  by  Dan's  tax-gatherers,   from  his  head-agent  in 
Dubhn,  one  Vincent  Fitzpatrick  (who  pockets  a  per  centage),   down  to  the 
lowest  keeper  of  a  rural  whisky-shop,  who  finds  it  his  interest  to  rattle  the  box, 
created  in  Front's  political   stomach  an  indescribable  nausea.     In  one  of  his 
sermons  to  the  faithful  of  Watergrasshill  (the  MS.  is  in  the  chest),  he  employs, 
as  usual  when  he  seeks  to  illustrate  any  topic  of  importance,  a  quotation  from 
one  of  the  holy  fathers ;  and  the  passage  he  selects  is  from  a  homily  of  St. 
Augustin,  addressed  to  the  people  of  Hyppo  in  Africa  : — "  Provcrbiujn  noium 
est  Punicutn  quod  quidem  Latind  vobis  dicat?i  quia  Piinice  iion  omncs  7iostis  ; 
NUMMUM   QU.4-:RIT   PESTILEXTIA  ?    DUOS    ILLI    DA,    ET   DUCAT   SE  !  "    {Scrm. 

CLXVII.  St i.  Aug.  opera,  tome  v.  p.  804,  Benedictine  Ed.)  i.e.  "There  is  an 
old  proverb  of  your  Phoenician  ancestors  which  I  will  mention  in  Latin,  as  you 
don't  all  speak  the  Punic  dialect  :    '  Does   the   pl.vgue   put   forth    its 

HAND    FOR   ALMS?     INSTEAD   OF   A    PENNY   GIVE    TWO,    THAT   YOU    M.\Y   BE 

MORE  SPEEDILY  RID  OF  THE  GRIM  APPLICANT.'  Now,  my  good  parishioners, 
this  aphorism  of  our  Carthaginian  forefathers  (I  am  sorry  we  have  not  been 
favoured  by  St.  Augustin  with  the  original  Celtic)  would  hold  good  if  the 
mendicant  only  paid  us  a  fortuitous  visit ;  but  if  he  were  found  to  wax  impor- 
tunate in   proportion   to  the  peaco-offering  of  pence,  and  if  this  claimant  of 


Modern  Latin  Poets,  345 


eleemosynary  aid  announced  to  us  a  perpetual  and  periodical  visitation,  we 
should  rather  adopt  the  resolution  of  one  Laurence  Sterne  (who  has  written  a 
volume  of_  sermons),  and,  buttoning  up  our  pocket,  stoutly  refuse  to  give  a 
single  sou." — Serjnon  for  Tribtite  Sutiday,  in  AIS. 

The  fits  of  periodical  starvation  to  which  the  agricultural  labourers  through- 
out (farmers  they  cannot  be  called)  are  subject— the  screwing  of  rents  up  to'an 
ad  libitum  pressure  by  the  owners  of  the  soil — the  "clearing  of  estates," 
against  which  there  is  no  legal  remedy,  and  which  can  only  be  voticed  by'a 
Rockite  billet-doux — the  slow,  wasting  process  of  inanition, 'which  carries  off 
the  bulk  of  the  peasantry  (for  though  famine  sometimes  takes  the  appearance 
of  a  chronic  distemper,  and  is  then  visible  to  all,  there  is  a  slow-fever  of 
hunger  endemic  through  the  land,  and  perma7ient  like  the  malaria  of  Italy)  ; 
—these,  in  Prouts  view  of  things,  are  (and  have  been  since  the  days  of  Swift) 
the  only  real  grievances  of  the  country.  In  his  opinion,  it  was  "too  bad" 
that  there  should  be  but  one  single  family  among  the  aborigines  entitled  to 
parochial  rehef,  and  that  one  bloated  beggarman,  bearing  like  the  Turk  no 
brother-mendicant  near  his  throne,  should  absorb  the  subsistence  of  the  rest. 
Municipal  arrangements,  and  the  w^oes  of  disqualified  aspirants  after  aldermanic 
turtle,  did  not  excite  Prout's  sympathy  while  the  ejected  peasant  of  the  Irish 
hovel  was  suffered  by  law  to  die  in  a  ditch ;  and  the  gratifying  of  sectarian 
vanity,  by  what  are  called  liberal  measures,  gave  him  no  pleasure  while  the 
cottier  was  allowed  to  be  trampled  on  by  the  landlord  (Popish  or  Protestant) 
with  uniform  heartlessness  and  impunity. 

"  Pellitur  in  sinu  ferens  Deos, 
Et  vir  et  iixor  sordidosque  natos." 

HOR. 

Impressed  with  this  irrefutable  doctrine,  when  the  thrilling  appeal  of  Doyle, 
on  behalf  of  the  forsaken  and  forgotten  poor,  had  forced  a  blush  of  conscious 
guiltiness  into  the  callous  cheek  of  the  "  man  of  the  people,"  and  when  the 
giant  culprit  announced  his  return  to  the  plain  principles  of  decency  and  jus- 
tice as  the  result  of  the  good  bishop's  touching  eloquence,  Prout,  in  common 
with  others,  hailed  the  conversion  as  a  miracle  of  Providence.  How  little  had 
he  sounded  the  motives  which  impelled  the  sordid  neophyte  to  simulate 
conviction  ! 

"  Un  jour  Harpagon,  louche  par  le  prone 

De  son  Cure,  dit  :  '  Je  vais  m'amender  ; 
Rien  n'est  si  beau,  si  touchant  que  I'aumone, 

Et  de  ce  pas,  je  vais — L.\  demander  ! '  " 

Any  debt  fairly  due  to  this  man  by  his  co-religionists  for  oratorical  exertions, 
which  probably  had  the  effect  of  antedating  by  several  years  the  act  of  their 
"emancipation,"  was,  in  the  father's  estimate,  long  since  discharged. 
'Ax^P'*'"'"''^  o  oj;/ioe;  Prout  would  ask,  in  the  words  of  .^schines,  and  with 
him  answer,  Oi-x  !  aWa  ^xtyaXat^^wv  [Orat.  in  Ctesiphont.).  Why,  then, 
7iie  ask,  does  the  annual  farce  of  "  the  rent"  still  form  a  dismal  after-piece  to 
the  sad  tragedy  of  "  Irish  starvation?"  Dicky  Shiel's  knowledge  of  things 
theatrical  may  perhaps  furnish  a  reply.  Both  melodrames  appear  to  be  "stock- 
pieces." 

Amid  the  orgies  of  Glasgow  and  the  Dionysiacs  of  Modern  Athens,  sur- 
rounded by  the  drunken  Radicals  of  this  island  or  the  cringing  parasites  that 
encircle  him  at  home,  a  truth  will  necessarily  force  itself  on  Dan's  recollection, 
were  none  of  his  caudatarii  to  remind  him  of  it;  i.e.,  that  though  he  has 
embittered  Irish  society,  and  called  into  active  existence  more  of  hateful 
rehgious  and  party  feeling  than  any  other  man,  he  has  never  added  a  single 
potato  to  the  farmer's  feist,  or  brought  a  single  legislative  blessing  to  the  peasant's 

O 


34^  TJie  Works  of  Father  Front. 

door.  The  patriot  who  would  protect  his  fellow-countnmen  from  dying  of 
actual  hunger,  would  feel  more  real  joy  and  a  more  hallowed  delight  than  the 
proprietor  of  a  copper-mine  producing  ^^^So.ooo  in  five  years — than  the  hero 
of  a  imndred  speeches.  The  true  lo%er  of  his  country  will  ever,  like  Mar- 
cellus,  enjoy  more  pure  sunsliine  of  the  breast  than  the  idol  of  a  deluded  mob, 
with  a  Whig  cabinet  at  his  tail,  and  {Jiroh  pudor !),  must  we  add  (until  ne.\t 
election), 

' '  With  a  senate  at  his  heels  ?  " 

These  were  Prout's  politics:  some  may  prefer  his  poetry.     We  like  both. 

OLIVER  YORKE. 


Watergrasshill,  OcU  1826. 

Resuming  to-night  the  subject  of  modem  attempts  at  Latin  versification,  a 
name  suggests  itself  sufficiently  distinguished,  Heaven  knows  !  in  the  annals  of 
ecclesiastical  warfare,  but  not  as  famihar  as  it  deserves  to  be  in  literary  circles. 
I  allude  to  Beza.  Those  who  imagine  that  his  title  of  successor  to  John 
Calvin,  in  that  snug  little  popedom  estabtished  at  the  head-quarters  of  schism 
and  watchmaking,  Geneva,  would  in  the  least  influence  my  judgment  as  to  his 
poetical  merits,  are  wofully  ignorant  of  my  way  of  doing  business.  To  be  sure, 
to  those  of  our  cloth,  the  recollections  connected  with  that  neighbourhood  are 
not  of  the  most  delectable  description.  Fraught  with  certain  controversial 
reminiscences,  I  cannot  exactly  say  with  Byron  that 

"  Lake  Leman  woos  me  with  her  cr^'stal  face  " 

(Canto  iii.  st  6S), — 

but  am  rather  inclined  to  join  in  the  testy  remark  of  the  Femey  patriarch  :  "// 
y  a  toiijottrs  ti(  dcs  tempetes  dans  ce  verrc  dean."  A  strange  and  mysterious 
attraction  seems  to  have  drawn  to  the  borders  of  this  romantic  fish-pond  Calvin 
and  Madame  de  .Stael,  Rousseau  and  Gibbon,  Beza  and  Sir  Egerton  Brydges, 
Voltaire  and  Sir  Humphry  Davy  (or,  as  tlie  Italians  called  him,  Zorom/ridez'i). 
St.  Francis  de  Sales,  Monsieur  Xecker.  Monsieur  de  Haller,  and  a  host  of 
celebrities  in  religion,  poliacs,  and  literature. 

"  Lausanne  and  Femey !  Ve  have  been  the  abodes 
Of  names  which  unto  you  bequeathed  a  name — 
Mortals  who  sought  and  found,  by  dangerous  roads, 

A  path  to  perpetuity'  of  fame. 
They  were  gigantic  minds,  and  their  steep  aim 

Was,  Titan-like,  on  daring  doubts  to  pile 
Thoughts  which  should  call  down  thunder,  and  the  flame 
Of  heaven  again  assail'd,  if  heaven  the  while 
On  man  and  man's  research  could  deign  do  more  than  smile." 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  peculiar  fascination  of  this  lake  for  sensitive 
souls,  it  appears  to  have  exercised  a  wholesome  influence  on  the  bodily  health 
of  the  denizens  on  its  margin  ;  for,  not  to  mention  the  octogenarian  author  of 
the"  Henriade,"  our  Theodore  himself  furnished  a  career  of  almost  a  full  century-, 
being  bom  in  1519.  and  deferring  his  depirture  from  this  life  to  the  protracted 
millesitno  of  1605  !  Vezelai,  a  village  of  Burgundy,  was  the  cradle  of  our 
poet;  in  early  infancy  he  was  transferred  to  the  liouse  of  an  old  uncle,  Xich.  de 
Boze,  a  lawyer  in  Paris,  whence,  at  the  age  of  ten,  he  was  removed  to  Orleans, 
and  placed  under  the  tuition  of  Melchior  Wolmar.  one  of  the  greatest  scholastic 
luminaries  of  the  day  :  and  from  him  the  embr>'o  reformer  imbibed  the  first 
principles  of  free  judgment  m  church  matters.     In  his  last  will  and  testament 


Modern  Latin  Poets.  347 

he  thanks  God  that  at  the  early  age  of  sixteen  he  had  already,  in  his  secret 
soul,  shaken  off  the  trammels  of  popery.  This  Uid  not  prevent  him  from  ac- 
uccepting  the  clerical  tonsure  ^xid.  petit  collet  to  qualify  for  a  church  living,  viz. 
the  priory  of  Longjumeau,  which  he  held  until  the  year  1548.  He  had  great 
expectations  from  an  old  uncle,  who  would  infallibly  have  left  him  on  his  death 
ecclesiastical  revenues  to  the  amount  of  15,000  livres  :  things  turned  out  other- 
wise. Idle  and  thoughtless,  he  mi.xed  for  years  in  the  gaieties  of  the  French 
capital,  publishing  in  the  inter\'als  of  fun  and  frohc  his  "  Poemata  Juvenilia;  " 
when  a  serious  attachment  to  a  young  lady  of  great  mental  accomplishments, 
and  also  a  fit  of  sickness,  caused  a  change  to  come  o'er  the  spirit  of  his  life's 
young  dream.  On  recovery  froin  his  illness,  during  which  no  doubt  he  had 
enjoyed  the  services  of  a  most  amiable  nurse-tender,  he  renounced  his  prior}^ 
bid  adieu  to  his  avuncular  prospects,  and  fled  to  Geneva,  where  his  superior 
education  and  acknowledged  scholarship  caused  him  to  be  received  with  accla- 
mation. I  had  forgot  to  add  (indeed  it  were  unnecessary  to  make  formal  men- 
tion of  it  to  the  inteUigent  reader)  that  Candida,  the  lady  of  his  love,  was  the 
partner  of  his  flight.  If  we  are  to  judge  of  her  beauty  and  sylph-hke  form  by 
the  standard  of  Beza's  glowing  verses,  "Ad  pedem  Candida," 

"  O  pes  I  quern  gemince  premunt  columnae,"  &c. ,  &c. 

she  must  have  been  a  fitting  Egeria  to  supply  the  new  legislator  of  divinity  with 
graceful  inspirations.  He  was^made  Greek  professer  at  Lausanne,  an  occupa- 
tion to  \vhich  he  devoted  ten  years  ;  and  at  that  place  he  wrote  a  Latin  tragedy, 
called  the  "Sacrifice  of  Abraham,"  which  Paquier  says  drew  tears  from  his  eyes: 
but  we  fear  its  melodramatic  pathos  would  be  scarcely  felt  now-a-days,  modern 
play-readers  are  so  hard-hearted.  At  I>ausanne  he  also  published  a  French 
translation  of  the  New  Testament,  and  carried  on  a  controversy  against  Sebas- 
tian Castalio,  a  brother  reformer  and  rival  translator,  between  whom  and  Beza 
there  appears  to  have  been  no  love  lost.  This  Castaho  had  the  impudence  to 
censure  Calvin  for  burning  Servetus,  and  our  Theodore  accordingly  wrote  a 
book  in  his  master's  defence,  which  was  printed  by  Robert  Etienne  (i  vol.  8vo, 
Paris,  1554),  "  under  the  sign  of  the  olive,"  and  entitled  "  De  Hcereticis  a  civili 
Magistratu  puniendis."  The  doctrine  of  putting  heretics  to  death  is  more  boldly 
and  strenuously  enforced  in  this  celebrated  tract  than  in  all  the  bigot  Dens' 
stupid  book  of  theology,  which  I  regret  to  see  disinterred  from  the  congenial 
cobwebs  of  Louvain,  by  order  of  some  shallow-pated  people  in  Dublin,  and 
thrust  on  the  conferences  of  the  Irish  priesthood  merely  to  fill  old  Dicky  Coyne 
the  bookseller's  pocket.  Beza,  of  course,  little  thought  what  use  might  be 
made  of  his  own  doctrines,  and  how  easily  their  application  to  the  Huguenots 
would  suggest  itself  to  the  Papists  :  that  sort  of  foresight  which  Horace  praises 
in  the  Roman  hero  Regulus  did  not  form  part  of  his  character  ;  he  did  not 
look  to  the  conseqicenccs. 

"  Hoc  caverat  mens  provida  Reguli 
Dissentientis  conditionibus 
Saevis  et  exemplo  tr.ahenti 
Pernicie.m  veniens  in  cevum." 

HoR.,  Ode  V.  lib.  ili. 

It  is  but  fair  to  add,  that  Melancthon  differed  totally  from  the  tenets  cf  his 
brethren  at  Geneva  on  this  matter. 

The  death  of  Calvin  left  him  the  recognized  chief  of  European  Protestantism 
in  1564,  previous  to  which  he  had  appeared  as  the  representative  of  the  cause 
at  the  famous  Colloque  de  Poissy ;  which,  like  all  such  exhibitions  of  religious 
wrangling,  ended  in  each  party  being  as  wise  as  ever.  He  presided  at  the 
synod  of  Rochelle  in  1570,  and  his  wife,  Candida,  dying  in  1588,  he  remarried 


I 


348 


1 


lie   Works  of  Father  Front. 


a  young  spouse,  whom  he  calls  the  "Shunamite":  rather  a  gay  thought  for  a 
theologian  in  his  seventy-third  year.  This,  however,  is  no  business  of  ours. 
Let  us  have  a  s:ave  of  his  poetry. 

Most  of  his  verses  are  in  the  hendecasyllabic  metre,  of  which  he  is  a  com- 
plete master,  and  the  choice  of  which  indicates  what  were  his  favourite  authors 
among  the  Latin  writers  of  the  Augustan  age. 


THEODORUS  BEZA 

Musis  tine  am  sacrijicat. 

Si  rogat  Cereremque  Libemmque 
Vitae  sollicitus  suae  colonus  ; 
Si  Mavortis  opus  petit  cruentus 
Miles  sollicitus  suae  salutis  ; 
Quidni,  Calliope,  tibi  tuisque 
Jure  sacra  feram,  quibus  placere 
Est  unura  studium  mihi,  omnibusque 
Qui  vatum  e  numero  volunt  habere? 

Vobis  ergo  ferenda  sacra,  musae  ! 
Sed  quae  \-ictima  grata?  quae  Camenae 
Dicata  hostia?  parcite,  o  sorores  ; 
Nova  haec  \-ictima  sed  tamen  sua\'is 
Futura  arbitror,  admodumque  grata. 
Accede,  o  tinea  !  ilia  quae  pusillo 
Ventrem  corpora  geris  voracem. 

Tene  Pieridum  aggredi  ministros? 
Tene  arrodere  tam  sacros  labores? 
Nee  factum  mini  denega  :  ecce  furti 
Tui  exempla  tuae  et  voracitatis  ! 
Tu  fere  mihi  "  Passerem  "  Catulli, 
Tu  fere  mihi  "  Lesbiam  "  abstulisti. 

Nimc  certe  meus  ille  Martialis 
I  ma  ad  \'iscera  rosus  ecce  languet, 
Et  quaerit  medicum  suum  '"  Triphonem  ;' 
Imo,  et  ipse  Maro.  cui  pepercit 
Olim  flamma.  tuum  tamen  terebrum 
Nuper,  o  fera  ter  scelesta,  sensit. 
Quid  dicam  innumeros  bene  eruditos, 
Quorum  tu  monumenta  et  labores 
Isto  pessimo  ventre  devorasti  ? 


Prodi  jam,  tunicam  relinque  !  prodi ! 
V'ah  !  ut  callida  stringit  ipsa  sese 
Ut  mortem  simulat  I     Scelesta,  prodi, 
Pro  tot  criminibus  datura  poenas. 
Age,  istum  jugulo  tuo  mucronem, 
Cruenta,  accipe,  et  istum  I  et  istum !  et  is- 
tum ! 
Vide  ut  palpitet  !  ut  cruore  largo 
.\ras  polluerit  profana  sacras. 

At  vos,  Pierides  bonaeque  musae,^ 
Nunc  gaudete  !  jacet  fera  interempta  : 
Wcet  sacrilega  ill^  quae  solebat 
; macros  Pieridum  vorare  servos. 


LINES  BY  BEZA, 
Suggested  by  a  Moth-eaten  Book. 

The  soldier  soothes  in  his  behalf 
Bellona,  with  a  victim  calf ; 
The  farmer's  fold  \-ictims  exhaust — 
Ceres  must  have  her  holocaust : 
And  shall  the  bard  alone  refuse 
A  votive  offering  to  his  muse, 
Pro\-ing  the  only  uncompliant. 
Unmindful,  and  ungrateful  client  ? 

\\'hat  gift,  what  sacrifice  select. 
May  best  betoken  his  respect  ? 
Stay,  let  me  think... O  happy  notion  ! 
What  can  denote  more  true  devotion, 
\\Tiat  victim  give  more  pleasing  odour. 
Than  yon  small  grub,  yon  wee  corroder, 
Of  sluggish  gait,  of  shape  uncouth. 
With  Jacobin  destructive  tooth  ? 

Ho,  creeper  I  thy  last  hour  is  come; 

Be  thou  the  muses'  hecatomb  I* 

With  whining  arts  think  not  to  gull  us  : 

Have  I  not  caught  thee  in  Catullus, 

Convening  into  thy  vile  marrow 

His  matchless  verses  on  '"the  Sparrow  "? 

Of  late,  thy  stomach  had  been  partial 
To  sundry- tit-bits  out  of  Martial ; 
Nay,  I  have  traced  thee,  insect  keen-eyed  I 
Through     the    fourth    book    of     Maro's 

"-tneid." 
On  \'ulgar  French  couldst  not  thou  fatten. 
And  curb  thy  appetite  for  Latin  ? 
Or,  if  thou  wouldst  take  Latin  from  us. 
Why  not  devour  Duns  Scot  and  Thomas? 
Might  not  the  "'  Digest  "  and  "  Decretals" 
Have  served  thee,  varlet :  for  thy  victuals? 

Victim !  come  forth  !  crawl  from  thy  nook  I 
Fit  altar  be  this  injured  book  ; 
Caitiff  1  'tis  vain  slyly  to  simulate 
'I'orpor  and  death  ;  thee  this  shall  immo- 
late— 
This  penknife,  fitting  guillotine 
lo  shed  a  bookworm's  blood  obscene  ! 
Nor  can  the  poet  better  mark  his 
Zeal  for  the  muse  than  on  thj'  carcase. 

The  deed  is  done  !  the  insect  Goth, 
I'nmourn'd  (save  by  maternal  moth), 
SLiin  without  mercy  or  remorse. 
Lies  there,  a  melancholy  corse. 


•  Quaere,  Hack  a  tome  "i— Printers  Dez'il. 


Modern  Latin  Poets.  349 

Hanc  vobis  tunicam,  has  dico,  Camoenae,  The  page  he  had  profaned  'tis  meet 

Vobis  exuvias,  ut  hunc  tropheum  Should  be  the  robber's  winding-sheet  ; 

Parnasso  in  medio  locetis  :  et  sit  ^  \\  hile  for  the  deed  the  Muse  decrees  a 

HiEC  inscriptio,  De  fera  ixterempta  Wreath  of  her  brightest  bays  to  Beza. 

BeZ.^ILS    SHOLIA    H.^C    OPIMA    MLSIS. 

I  know  not  whether  the  laureate  Southey,  whose  range  of  reading  takes  in, 
like  the  whirlpool  of  the  Indian  ocean,  sea-weed  and  straws,  as  well  as  frigates 
and  merchanrmen,  has  not  found,  in  this  obscure  poem  of  Beza,  the  prototype 
of  his  fanciful  lines 

ON  A  WORM   IN   THE  NUT. 

Nay.  gather  not  that  filbert,  Nicholas  ; 
There  is  a  maggot  there  :  it  is  his  house, 
His  castle — oh,  commit  not  burglary  ! 
Strip  him  not  naked  ;  'tis  his  clothes,  his  she!]. 
His  bones,  the  very  armour  of  his  life, 
And  thou  shalt  do  no  murder,  Nicholas  ! 
It  were  an  easy  thing  to  crack  that  nut, 
Ur  with  thy  crackers  or  thy  double  teeth  : 
^  o  easily  may  all  things  be  destroyed  ! 
But  'tis  not  in  the  power  of  mortal  man 
To  mend  the  fracture  of  a  filbert-shell. 
Enough  of  dangers  and  of  enemies 
Hath  Nature "s  wisdom  for  the  worm  ordain'd. 
Increase  not  thou  the  number !  him  the  mousr^ 
»  Gnawing  with  nibbling  tooth  the  shell's  defence, 

,  May  from  his  native  tenement  eject  ; 

Him  may  the  nut-hatch,  piercing  with  strong  bill. 

Unwittingly  destroy  ;  or  to  his  hoard 

The  squirrel  bear,  at  leisure  to  be  crack'd. 

Man  also  hath  his  dangers  and  his  foes 

As  this  poor  maggot  hath  ;  and  when  I  muse 

UpKjn  the  aches,  anxieties,  and  fears, 

The  maggot  knows  not,  Nicholas,  methinks 

It  were  a  happy  metamorphosis 

To  be  enkernell'd  thus  :  never  to  hear 

Of  wars,  and  of  invasions,  and  of  plots, 

Kings,  Jacobins,  and  tax-commissioners  ; 

To  feel  no  motion  but  the  wind  that  shook 

The  filbert-tree,  and  rock'd  me  to  my  rest  ; 

And  in  the  middle  of  such  exquisite  food 

To  live  luxurious  !  the  perfection  this 

Of  snugness  !  it  were  to  unite  at  once 

Hermit  retirement,  aldermanic  bliss, 

And  Stoic  independence  of  mankind." 

But  perhaps  Lafontaine's  rat,  who  retired  from  the  world's  intercourse  to  the 
hermitage  of  a  fromage  d' Hollande,  was  the  real  source  of  Souihey's  inspira- 
tion. 

In  another  effusion,  which  he  has  entitled  "Ad  Bibliothecam,"  Eeza's  enthu- 
siasm for  the  writers  of  classic  antiquity  breaks  out  in  fine  style ;  and  as  the 
enumeration  of  his  favourites  may  possess  some  interest,  insomuch  as  it  affords 
a  clue  to  his  early  course  of  reading,  I  insert  a  fragment  of  this  glorious 
nomenclature.     The  catalogue  requires  no  translation  : 

"  Salvete  incolumes  mel  libelli, 
Meae  delicise,  mese  salutes  1 
Salve  mi  Cicero,  Catulle.  salve  ! 
Salve  mi  Maro,  Piiniumque  uterque  ! 
Mi  Cato,  Columella,  Varro,  Livi  I 
Salve  mi  quoque  Plaute,  tu  Terenti, 


350  TJic  Works  of  Father  Front. 

Et  tu  salve  Ovidi,  Fabi,  Properti  ! 

Vos  salvete  etiam  disertiores 

Graeci !  ponere  quos  loco  priore 

Decebat,  Sophocles,  Isocratesque, 

Et  tu  ciii popularis  mira  iiojiieti 

Dedit ;  tu  quoque  magne  Homere  salve  ! 

Salve  Aristoteles,  Plato,  Timoee  ! 

Et  vos,  O  reliqui  !  quibus  negatum  est 

Includi  numeris  phaleuciorum." 

The  words  which  I  have  marked  in  itaUcs  would  seem  to  convey  the  theory 
subsequently  broached  by  Professor  Wolff,  and  maintained  with  such  prodigious 
learning;  viz.  that  Homer  was  a  mere  ens  ration  is,  ^  nominis  umbra,  repre- 
senting no  individual  of  the  species — such  poet  never  having,  in  fact,  existed — 
but  that  the  various  rhapsodies  forming  the  "  Iliad"  and  "Odyssey"  were 
collected  throughout  Greece,  and  the  authorship  ascribed  to  this  imaginary 
personage  about  the  time  of  Lycurgus.  The  scepticism  of  Beza  would  greatly 
corroborate  the  Wolffian  doctrine  ;  but  Alexander  Pope  would  not,  I  fear,  be 
found  easy  to  persuade  on  this  head,  if  we  may  judge  from  his  ridiculing 
similar  assertions  made  in  his  day  by  some  hero  of  the  "  Dunciad"  : 

"  With  him  all  authors  steal  their  works,  or  buy — 
Garth  did  not  write  his  own  '  Dispensary.'" 

We  have  no  similar  list  of  his  favourite  authors  among  the  modern  or  con- 
temporary writers,  but  it  would  appear  that  he  had  a  great  partiality  for  old 
Frank  Rabelais,  and  that  he  relished  exceedingly  the  learned  buffoonery  of  that 
illustrious  Theban.  Witness  the  following  commendatory  distich,  in  which'he 
has  recorded  his  admiration  : 

"  Qui  sic  nugatur,  tractantem  ut  seria  vincat, 
Seria  cum  scribet,  die  modo  qualis  erit?  " 
i.e., 

If  jokes  and  fun  he  show  such  might  in, 
What  would  he  be  in  serious  writing  ? 

Of  Beza,  as  a  religionist,  it  does  not  become  me  to  say  a  word.  Henri 
Quatre,  in  the  supposed  interview  with  Queen  Elizabeth,  is  introduced  by  the 
poet  as  declaring  his  incompetency  to  pronounce  on  the  rival  merits  of  Rome 
and  Geneva:  a  passage  which  the  facetious  Morgan  O'Doherty,  when  on  a 
visit  to  Watergrasshill,  distorted  to  a  very  singular  meaning.  I  asked  the 
baronet  whether  he  preferred  Irish  alcohol  to  Jamaica  spirits,  French  brandy  to 
London  gin.  "  Mo7i,  bon  pcrc  !  je  ne  dtcidc pas,"  was  his  reply  (delivered  with 
unusual  modesty), 

"  ENTRE   GINEVRE   ET    RU.M  ! 

as  the  poet  says,  but  send  round  the  whisky-bottle,  by  all  means." 

A  notice  of  Jacques  Vaniere  must  be  necessarily  brief,  as  far  as  biographical 
detail.  His  was  tiie  quiet,  peaceful,  but  not  illiterate  life  of  the  cloister;  days 
of  calm,  unimpassioned  existence,  gliding  insensibly,  but  not  unpleasiiigly  nor 
unprofitably,  onwards  to  the  repose  of  the  grave  and  the  hopes  of  immortality. 
He  was  born  in  the  south  of  France,  near  Montpellier.  in  1664;  was  enrolled 
among  the  Jesuits  at  the  age  of  sixteen  ;  and  died  at  Toulouse  in  1739,  at  the 
advanced  age  of  seventy-three.  By  the  bye,  Latin  poetry  seems  to  act  most 
beneficially  on  the  constitution  of  its  modern  cultivators;  and  it  behoves  the 
managers  of  insurance  companies  to  look  sharply  after  annuitants  addicted  to 
the  use  of  the  iiexameter.  Let  them  ponder  over  the  following  scale  of 
longevity,  which  I  %\x\>m\\.  gratis  to  their  inspection  : 


Modern  Latin  Poets.  351 


Jerome  Vida 

at.  97 

Sincerus  Sannazar 

72 

Jerome  Fracastor 

71 

Theodore  Beza     . 

86 

Jaques  Vaniere    . 

73 

George  Buchanan 

76 

The  only  incident  that  broke  in  on  the  calm  monotony  of  his  career  was  a 
law-suit  about  a  library,  bequeathed  to  his  college  by  the  Archbishop  of  Tou- 
louse, and  which  the  surviving  relatives  of  Monsgr.  de  la  Berchere  chose  to  liti- 
gate. The  affair  took  ten  years,  and  was  then  sent  up  to  the  privy-council; 
whither  Vaniere  followed  it,  preceded  by  the  reputation  which  his  "  Prasdium 
Rusticum "  had  justly  acquired.  On  his  way  to  Paris  through  Lyons,  the 
academy  of  this  latter  place  met  him  in  grand  ceremony  at  the  city-gates  ;  a.id 
still  higher  honours  were  paid  him  in  the  metropohs.  His  visit  to  the 
Bibliotheque  du  Roi  was  deemed  an  event  fit  to  be  recorded  in  the  annals  of 
the  establishment,  where  it  is  extant ;  but  a  more  durable  memorial  of  the 
sensation  he  created  exists  in  the  shape  of  a  bronze  medal,  struck  in  honour  of 
the  poet  ;  an  impression  of  which  may  be  seen  in  the  "  Musieum  Mazzucheli- 
anum,"  II.  pi.  169,  with  the  exergue  "  RuRis  opes  et  deliti.^."  Notwith- 
standing all  this,  and  the  protection  of  Cardinal  Fleury,  he  lost  his  suit,  but 
never  his  temper,  which  was  singularly  mild.  Schoolboys  are  not  aware  that 
thev  owe  him  a  vast  debt  of  gratitude  ;  he  being  the  compiler  of  that  wondrous 
ladder  of  Jacob  yclept  "  Gradus  ad  Parnassum.,"  by  the  aid  of  which  many 
an  Etonia7i  and  Harrowitc  has  been  enabled  to  exclaim  with  Horace, 

"  Sublimi  feriam  sidera  vertice  1" 

The  "  Proedium  Rusticum"  comprises  sixteen  books,  each  on  a  separate  sub- 
ject of  agricultural  interest,  but  all  distinguished  by  a  brilliant  fancy,  a  kindly 
feeling,  and  a  keen  relish  for  the  pursuits  of  rural  life.  The  topics  best 
handled  are  "vineyards,"  "fish-ponds,"  "poultry,"  "gardening,"  "game- 
preserves,"  and  "  sheep-walks  ;  "  nor  do  I  know  any  book  which  conveys  such 
a  beautiful  and  detailed  picture  of  farming  operations  in  France  before  the 
Revolution.  Since  that  event,  the  whole  system  of  landed  property  having 
been  dashed  to  pieces,  a  totally  different  state  of  society  has  super\-ened,  and 
the  morals,  habits,  and  character  of  the  French  peasantry  are  altogether 
different.  In  Vaniere's  poem  there  are  evidences  of  an  abundance  and  a  cheer- 
ful industry,  with  habits  of  subordination  and  happy  simpUcity,  of  which  not  a 
trace  remains  among  the  present  generation.  • 

There  are  several  singular  notions  broached  in  this  book  :  ex.  gr.  in  depre- 
cating the. destruction  of  forests,  our  poet  points  out  the  value  oi  firewood, 
much  lamenting  over  the  necessity  which  cornpels  the  English  to  burn  coals, 
and  then  resort  to  Montpellier  to  get  cured  of  subsequent  consiunption  : 

".  .  .  .  Antiquos  ferro  ne  dejice  luces  ! 
Aspice  defosso  terris  carbone  Britanni, 
Quam  male  dissolvunt  frigus  !  quam  ducitur  segre 
Spiritus  I  infesto  ni  labescentibus  igne 
Monspeliensis  opem  tulerit  pulmonibus  aer." 

The  digging  of  the  canal  of  Languedoc,  "  gemino  faciens  commercia  ponfo" 
forms  a  glorious  episode  (lib.  i.)  ;  as  also  does  the  memorable  plague  ot 
Marseilles  (lib.  iii.),  celebrated  bv  Pope,  and  during  which  our  poet  s  cmjreres 
distinguished  themselves  bv  their  heroic  devotedness.  The  description  ot  a 
village  festival,  in  honour  of  the  patron  saint  (hb.  vii.),  has  been  deserv'eaiy 
admired,  having  been  translated  bv  DeliUe.  The  famous  year  of  the  tiam 
frost,  which,  towards  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Louis  Xl\ .,  destroyed  all  tne 


352  The    Works  of  FatJier  ProiU. 

olive  plantations  in  the  south  of  France,  is  also  fittingly  sung  (lib.  viii.);  but 
commend  me  to  a  cock-fight  (lib.  xii.)  : 

"  Colla  rigent  hirsuta  jubis — palearea  mento 
Dira  rubent — pugnse  praeludia  nulla — sed  ambo 
Partibus  adversis  facto  simul  impete  duris 
Pectora  pectoribus  quatiunt,  hostilia  rostris 
Rostra  petunt,  strictosque  repulsant  unguibus  ungues. 
Avulsae  volitant  plumse  !  cruor  irrigat  artus  ; 
Necdum  odiis  irseque  datum  satis,  horrida  necdiim 
Bella  cadunt,  domitum  victor  dum  straverit  hostem  ; 
Ductaque  pulset  ovans  plaudentibus  ilia  pennis 
Et  sublime  caput  circumferat  atque  triumphum 
Occinat  et  vacua  solus  jam  regnat  in  aula." 

The  various  habits  of  the  swan,  the  peacock,  the  turkey,  and  other  feathered 
subjects,  are  capitally  struck  off;  nor  is  there  a  more  pathetic  passage  in  the 
"  Sorrows  of  Werter  "  than  the  one  descriptive  of  a  hen's  grief.  This  hen  is 
made  to  "sit"  on  a  batch  of  duck's  eggs,  and  when  the  ducklings  have 
appeared  she  still  believes  them  to  be  chickens,  and  acts  accordingly,  until,  by 
some  fatal  chance,  they  are  led  to  the  brink  of  a  pond  ;  when  lo  !  the  secret  of 
their  birth  is  revealed  :  they  rush  instinctively  into  the  deep,  and  leave  their 
disconsolate  »//ci;oo-parent  "on  the  bleak  shore  alone."  The  passage,  how- 
ever, which  I  have  selected  for  translation  is  in  a  higher  key,  and  gives  a  very 
favourable  idea  of  the  father's  candour  and  benevolence.  It  occurs  towards 
the  close  of  his  poem. 

"  Hactenus  in  sterili  satis  eluctatus  areirS, 
Et  fodere  et  ferro  laetas  compescere  vites 
Edocui,  falcem  tractans  durosque  ligones. 
Nunc  cratere  manum  armatus,  nunc  sordida  musto 
Vasa  gerens,  cellas  et  subterranea  Bacchi 
Hospitia  ingredior.     Proh  quanta  silentia  !  quantus 
Horror  inest  !  lato  pendet  curvamine  fornix 
Luce  carens  fumoque  niger.     Stant  ordine  longo 
Dolia,  quae  culicum  globus  obsidet,  atque  bibaci 
Guttula  si  qua  meri  costis  dependeat  ore, 
Sugit  et  in  varios  circumvolat  ebrius  orbes,"  &c.,  &c. 

VANiiiKE's  Prccdium  Rnstiaon,  lib.  xi. 

MEDITATIONS  IN  A  WINE-CELLAR. 

BY   THE  JESUIT   VANIERE. 

"Introduxit  me  in  cellam  vinariam." — Song  of  Soloinon,  cap.  ii.  v.  4. 
(Vulgate  version.) 

I. 
I've  taught  thus  far  a  vineyard  how  to  plant, 

Wielded  the  pruning-hook,  and  plied  the  hoe, 
And  trod  the  grape  ;  now,  Father  Bacchus,  grant 

Entrance  to  where,  in  many  a  goodly  row, 

You  keep  your  treasures  safely  lodged  below. 
Well  have  I  earn'd  the  privilege  I  ask  ; 

Then  proudly  down  the  cellar-steps  I  go  : 
Fain  would  I  terminate  my  tuneful  task. 
Pondering  before  each  pipe,  communing  with  each  cask. 

II. 
Hail,  horrors,  hail !     Welcome,  Cimmerian  cellar ! 

f)f  liquid  bullion  ine.\hausted  mine  ! 
Cuniean  cave  !  .  no  sibyl  thy  indweller  : 

Sole  Pythoness,  the  witchery  of  wine ! 


Pleased  I  explore  this  sanctuary  of  thine, 
An  humble  votary-,  whom  venturous  feet 

Have  brought  into  thy  subterranean  shrine  ; 
Its  mysteries  I  reverently  greet. 
Pacing  these  solemn  vaults  in  contemplation  sweet. 

III. 

Arm'd  with  a  lantern  though  the  poet  walks, 
Who  dares  upon  those  silent  halls  intrude, 

He  cometh  not  a  pupil  of  Gly  Faux, 
O'er  treasonable  practices  to  brood 
Within  this  deep  and  a\vful  solitude  ; 

Albeit  Loyola  claims  him  for  a  son, 

Yet  with  the  kindliest  sympathies  imbued 

For  every  human  thing  heaven  shines  upon. 
Naught  in  his  bosom  beats  but  love  and  benison. 

IV. 

He  knows  nor  cares  not  what  be  other  men's 
Notions  concerning  orthodox  belief; 

Others  may  seek  theology  in  "  Dexs," 
He  in  this  grot  would  rather  take  a  leaf 
From  Wisdom's  book,  and  of  existence  brief 

Learn  not  to  waste  in  empt>'  jars  the  span. 
If  jars  there  must  be  in  this  vale  of  grief, 

Let  them  h^/ull  ones  !  let  the  flowing  can 
Reign  umpire  of  disputes,  imiting  man  with  man. 

V. 

'Twere  better  thus  than  in  collegiate  hall. 
Where  huge  infolios  and  ponderous  tomes 

Build  up  Di\'inity's  dark  arsenal, 

Grope  in  the  gloom  with  controversial  gnomes — 
Geneva's  gospel  still  at  war  with  Rome's  : 

Better  to  bury  discord  and  dissent 

In  the  calm  cellar's  peaceful  catacombs. 

Than  on  dogmatic  bickerings  intent, 
Poison  the  pleasing  hours  for  man's  enjoyment  meant 


VI. 

Doth  j'onder  cask  of  BuRGrNDV  repine 

That  some  prefer  his  brother  of  Uordeaux? 
Is  old  Garumxa  jealous  of  the  Rhine? 

Gaul,  of  the  grape  Germanic  vineyards  grow? 

Doth  Xeres  deem  meek  Lachrv.ma  his  foe  ? 
On  the  calm  banks  that  fringe  the  blue  Moselle, 

On  Leman's  margin,  on  the  plains  of  Po, 
Pure  from  one  common  sky  these  dew-drops  fell. 
Hast  thou  preserved  the  juice  in  purity  ?    'Tis  well  ! 

VIL 

Lessons  of  love,  and  light,  and  liberty, 

Lurk  in  these  wooden  volumes.     Freedom's  code 

Lies  there,  and  Pity's  charter.     Poetry 
And  Genius  make  their  favourite  abode 
In  double  range  of  goodly  puncheons  stow'd  ; 

Whence  welling  up  freely,  as  from  a  fount, 
The  flood  of  Fancy  in  all  time  has  flow'd. 

Gushing  with  more  exuberance,  I  count, 
Than  from  Pierian  spring  on  Greece's  fabled  mount. 


'< 


354  ^■^^^  Works  of  Father  Front. 

VIII. 

School  of  Athenian  eloquence  !  did  not 

Demosthenes,  half-tonsured,  love  to  pass 
Wuiters  in  such  preparatory  grot, 

His  topics  there  in  fit  array  to  clas?, 

And  stores  of  wit  and  argument  amass  ? 
Hath  not  another  Greek  of  late  arisen, 

Whose  eloquence  partaketh  of  the  glass, 
Whose  nose  and  tropes  with  rival  radiance  glisten, 
And  unto  whom  the  Peers  night  after  night  Jizust  listen? 

IX. 
Say  not  that  wine  hath  bred  dissensions — wars  ; 

Charge  not  the  grape,  calumnious,  with  the  blame 
Of  murder'd  Clytus.     Lapitha;,  Centaurs, 

Drunkards  of  every  age,  will  aye  defame 

l"he  innocent  vine  to  palliate  their  shame. 
O  Thyrsus,  magic  wand  !  thou  mak'st  appear 

Man  in  his  own  true  colours — vice  proclaim 
Its  infamy — sin  its  foul  figure  rear. 
Like  the  recumbent  toad  touch'd  by  Ithuriel's  spear  ! 

X. 

The  glorious  sun  a  savage  may  revile,* 

And  shoot  his  arrows  at  the  god  of  day  ; 
Th'  ungrateful  Ethiop  on  thy  banks,  O  Nile  ! 

With  barbarous  shout  and  insult  may  repay 

Apollo  for  his  vivifying  ray. 
Unheeded  by  the  god,  whose  fiery  team 

Prances  along  the  sky's  immortal  way  ; 
While  from  his  brow,  flood-like,  the  bounteous  beam 
Bursts  on  the  stupid  slaves  who  gracelessly  blaspheme. 

XI. 

That  savage  outcry  some  attempt  to  ape, 

Loading  old  Bacchus  with  absurd  abuse  ; 
But,  pitying  them,  the  father  of  the  grape. 

And  conscious  of  their  intellect  obtuse, 

Tells  them  to  go  (for  answer)  to  the  juice  : 
Meantime  the  god,  whom  fools  would  fain  annoy. 

Rides  on  a  cask,  and,  of  his  wine  profuse, 
Sends  up  to  earth  the  flood  without  alloy, 
W'hence  round  the  general  globe  circles  the  cup  of  joy. 

XIL  I 

Hard  was  thy  fate,  much-injured  Hylas  !  whom  H 

The  roguish  Naiads  of  the  fount  entrapp'd  ;  T^ 

Thine  was,  in  sooth,  a  melancholy  doom — 

In  liquid  robes  for  wint'ry  wardrobe  wrapp'd, 

*  "  Le  Nil  a  vu  sur  ses  rivages 

Les  noirs  habitans  des  deserts 
Insulter,  par  de  cris  sauvages, 
L'astre  brillant  de  I'univers. 
Oris  impuissans  !  fureurs  bizarres  ! 
'I'andis  que  ces  monstres  barbares 

Poussent  d"inutiles  clameurs, 
Le  Dieu,  poursuivant  sa  carrifere. 
Verse  des  torrcns  de  lumiere 

Sur  ses  obscurs  blasphemateurs." 
Tivls,  of  all  the  voluminous  effusions  from  the  pen  of  Le  Franc  de  Pompignan,  is  tiie 
only  stanza  which  will  Ije  remembered  by  posterity:  it  occurs  in  a  collection  of  poetry 
which  he  has  entitled  "  Poesies  Sacrces" — a  large  quarto  book.   "Sacrccs  dies  so/tl,"  s:iys 
\'oltaire,  '" car personiie  ny  toiicltc." — Proi;t. 


I  Modern  Latin  Poets.  355 

And  "  in  Elysium  "  of  spring-water  lapp'd  ! " 
Better  if  hither  thou  hadst  been  enticed, 

Where  casks  abound  and  generous  w.ine  is  tapp'd  ; 
Thou  wouldst  not  feel,  as  now,  thy  limbs  all  iced, 
But  deem  thyself  in  truth  blest  and  imparadised. 

XIII. 

A  Roman  king — the  second  of  the  series — 

Nl'.ma,  who  reign'd  upon  Mount  Palatine, 
Possess'd  a  private  grotto  call'-d  Egerias  ; 

Where,  being  in  the  legislative  line. 

He  kept  an  oracle  men  deem'd  divine. 
What  nymph  it  was  from  whom  his  "  law"  he  got 

None  ever  knew  ;  but  jars,  that  smelt  of  wine. 
Have  lately  been  discovered  in  a  grot 
Of  that  Egerian  vale.     Was  this  the  nymph  ?    God  wot. 

XIV. 

Here  would  I  dwell,  oblivious  I*  a^'e  shut  out 

Passions  and  pangs  that  plague  the  human  heart, 
Content  to  range  this  goodly  grot  throughout, 

Loth,  like  the  lotus-eater,  to  depart, 

Deeming  this  cave  of  joy  the  genuine  mart ; 
Cellar,  though  dark  and  dreary,  yet  I  ween 

Depot  of  brightest  intellect  thou  art ! 
Calm  reservoir  of  sentiment  serene  ! 
Miscellany  of  mind  !  wit's  gloriols  magazine  I 

Of  George  Buchanan  Scotland  may  be  justly  proud  ;  though  I  suspect  there 
exists  among  our  northern  friends  a  greater  disposition  to  glory  in  the  fame  he 
has  acquired  for  them  than  an  anxiety  to  read  his  works,  of  which  there  was 
never  an  edition  published  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  wall  of  Antonine  save 
one,  and  that  not  until  the  year  1715,  by  Ruddiman,  in  i  vol.  folio.  The  con- 
tinental editions  are  innumerable.  The  Scotch  have  been  equally  unmindful  of 
certain  earlier  celebrities,  such  as  John  HoUybush,  known  abroad  by  the  name 
of  Sacrobosco,  who  flourished  in  1230;   Duns  Scotus,  who  made  their  name 

I    famous  among  the  Gentiles  in  1300,  and  concerning  whom  a  contemporary 

J    poet  thought  it  necessary  to  observe — 

... 
:]  '  Non  2/coTOs  a  tenebris  sed  Skwto?  nomme  dictus, 

■j  A  populo  extremum  qui  colit  oceanum." 

\  Then  there  was  John  Mair,  a  professor  of  Sorbonne,  born  among  them  in  1446  ; 
\  not  to  speak  of  Tom  Dempster,  professor  at  Bologna,  and  Andrew  Melvin  the 
J    poet,  on  whose  patronymic  the  following  execrable  pun  was  perpetrated  : 

I  "  Qui  non  7ncl  sed  fel  non  vitunn  das  sed  acetum 

I  Quam  male  tam  belli  nominis  omen  habes. " 

I  As  to  the  admirable  Crichton,  the  pupil  of  Buchanan,  I  don't  much  blame 
I  them  for  not  makmg  a  fuss  about  h'nn,  as  the  only  copy  of  his  works  (in  MSS.) 
.1  happens  to  be  in  my  possession,  having  been  discovered  by  me  in  an  old  trunk 
in  Mantua,  and  shown  to  no  human  being  except  Mr.  Ainsvvorth,  who  men- 
tioned to  me  his  project  of  sketching  off  that  brilliant  character  when  last  he 
visited  Watergrasshill.  These  unpublished  works  will  be  found  among  my 
papers  by  my  executors  To  return  to  Buchanan,  he  has  taken  the  precaution 
of  wridn'g  his  own  life,  conscious  that  if  left  to  some  of  nature's  journeymen  it 
would  be  sadly  handled.  Born  in  1506,  in  the  shire  of  Lennox,  poor  and 
penniless,  he  contnved  to  get  over  to  Paris,  where,  having  narrowly  escaped 

*  "Quittons  ce  lieu  oil  ma  raison  s'enivre."— BtKANGER. 


356  TJie  Works  of  Father  Prout. 

starvation  at  the  university  (the  fare  must  have  been  very  bad  on  which  a  Cale- 
donian could  not  thrive),  he  returned  "bock  agin,"  and  enlisted  at  Edinburgh 
in  a  company  of  P'rench  auxiliaries,  merely,  as  he  says,  to  learn  "military 
tactics."  Our  soldier  spent  a  winter  in  hospital,  which  sickened  him  of  martial 
pursuits.  So  to  Paris  he  sped  on  a  second  spree,  and  contrived  to  get  appointed 
master  of  grammar  at  the  college  of  Ste.  Barbe.  Here  a  godsend  fell  in  his 
way  in  the  shape  of  a  young  Scotch  nobleman,  Kennedy,  Earl  of  Cassilis,  who 
brought  him  to  Scotland,  and  introduced  him  at  court.  James  made  him  tutor 
to  one  of  his  bastard  sons;  another  being  placed  under  "the  care  of  Erasmus. 
These  lads  were  born  with  a  silver  spoon  !  Meantime  Buchanan's  evil  star  led 
him  to  lampoon  the  Franciscan  friars,  at  the  request,  he  says,  of  the  king,  who 
detested  the  fraternity  ;  but  it  cost  him  dear.  Were  it  not  for  the  kind  offices 
of  the  young  Princess  Mary  (whom  he  subsequently  libelled),  it  would  have 
gone  hard  with  him.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  contrived  to  get  out  of  prison,  fled 
from  the  vengeance  of  Cardinal  Beaton  into  England,  where  Henry  was  then 
busy  bringing  to  the  stake  folks  of  every  persuasion  ;  wherefore  he  crossed  to 
France,  but  found  Beaton  before  him  at  Paris  :  so  he  proceeded  to  Bordeaux, 
and  met  a  friendly  reception  from  Andre  Govea,  the  Portuguese  rector  of  that 
Gascon  university.  While  in  this  city  he  composed  the  tragedy  of  "Jephte,"  to 
discourage  the  foolish  melodrames  of  that  period  called  "mysteries,"  of  which 
Victor  Hugo  has  given  such  a  ludicrous  specimen  in  the  opening  chapters  of 
"XotreDame;"  he  also  presented  a  complimentar)'  address  to  Charles  V.  on  his 
passage  from  Madrid  to  Paris.  Govea  subsequently  took  him  to  Coimbra,  of 
which  celebrated  academy  he  thus  became  one  of  the  early  founders.  But  the 
friars,  who  never  yet  lost  sight  of  a  foe,  got  him  at  last  here  into  the  clutches  of 
the  Inquisition,  and,  during  a  long  captivity  in  Banco  St.  Dotyiinici,  he  was  at 
leisure  to  execute  his  glorious  translation  of  the  Psalms  into  Latin  lyrical  verse. 
From  Portugal  he  managed  to  escape  in  a  Turkish  vessel  bound  for  London, 
and  thence  repaired  to  France,  for  which  country  he  appears  to  have  had  a 
cunous  predilection.  He  there  got  employment  as  tutor  in  the  Marshale 
Brissac's  family  ;  and  meantime  wrote  verses  in  honour  of  every  leading  con- 
temporary event,  such  as  the  raising  of  the  siege  of  Metz,  the  taking  of  Ver- 
celles,  and  the  capture  of  Calais  by  the  Due  de  Guise  in  1557.  This  latter 
occurrence  is  one  of  such  peculiar  interest  to  an  English  reader,  and  gives 
Buchanan  such  an  opportunity  of  expressing  his  real  sentiments  towards 
England,  that  I  have  selected  it  for  translation.  It  is  strange  that  in  his  auto- 
biography he  abuses  the  hero  whom  he  celebrates  in  his  ode,  and  who  was  no 
other  than  the  celebrated  Guise  le  Balafrd  (so  called  from  a  cicatrice  on  the 
cheek),  whose  statue  may  be  seen  in  our  own  day  on  the  market-place  of 
Calais,  and  whose  mihtary  genius  and  activity  much  resembled  the  rapid  con- 
ceptions and  brilliant  execution  of  Buonaparte.  The  allusion  to  the  prevalent 
astrological  mania  at  court  is  quite  characteristic  of  the  philosophic  poet,  ever 
grave  and  austere  even  in  the  exercise  of  fancy;  but  the  abuse  lavished  on  the 
ex-emperor  Charles  V.  is  not  a  proof  of  Buchanans  consistency. 

AD  FRANC  LE  REGEM,  HEX-         ODE  ON  THE  TAKING  OF 

RICUM  n.,  POST  VICTOS  CALAIS, 

C  ALETES,  Addressed  io  Henry  II.,  King  of  France, 

Georgms  Buchanan,  Scotus.  by  George  Buchanan. 

Non  Parca  fati  conscia,  lubricae  Henry  !  let  none  commend  to  thee 

Non  sortis  axis,  sistere  nescius,  Fate,  Forti:ne,  Doo^^,  or  Destiny, 

Non  >.iderum  lapsus,  scd  unus  Or  Star  in  heaven's  high  canopy, 

Rerum  opifcx  moderatur  orbem.  With  magic  glow 

Shining  on  man's  nativity, 
For  weal  or  woe. 


Modern  Latin  Poets. 


357 


Qui  terrain  inertem  stare  loco  jubet, 
/Equor  perennes  volvere  vortices, 
Coelumque  nunc  lucem  tenebris, 
Kunc  tenebras  variare  luce. 


Qui  temperatae  sceptra  modestiae, 
Dat  et  protervse  froena  superbiac, 
Qui  lachrymis  foedat  triumphos, 
Et  lachrymas  hilarat  triumphis. 


Rather,  O  king  I  here  recognize 
A  Providence  all-just,  all-wise, 
Of  every  earthly  enterprise 

The  hidden  mover ; 
Aye  casting  calm  complacent  eyes 

Down  on  thy  Louvre. 

Prompt  to  assume  the  right's  defence, 
Mercy  unto  the  meek  dispense, 
Curb  the  rude  jaws  of  insolence 

With  bit  and  bridle. 
And  scourge  the  chiel  vk'hose  frankincense 

Bums  for  an  idol. 


Exempla  long^  ne  repetam  ;  en  !  jacet 
Fractusque  et  exspes,  quem  gremio  suo 
Fortuna  fotum  nuper  omnes 
Per  populos  tumidum  ferebat. 


Who,  his  triumphant  course  amid, 
Who  smote  the  monarch  of  Madrid, 
And  bade  Pav'ia's  victor  bid 

To  power  farewell  ? 
Once  Europe's  arbiter,  now  hid 

In  hermit's  cell. 


Nee  tu  secundo  flamine  quem  super 

Felicitatis  vexerat  sequora 
Henrice  !  virtus, — nesciisti, 
Umbriferae  fremitum  procellse. 


Thou,  too,  hast  known  misfortune's  blast 
Tempests  have  bent  thy  stately  mast, 
And  nigh  upon  the  breakers  cast 

Thy  gallant  ship  : 
But  now  the  hurricane  is  pass'd— 

Hush'd  is  the  deep. 


Sed  pertinax  hunc  fastus  adhuc  premit, 
Urgetque  pressum,  et  progeniem  sui 
FiduciSque  pari  tumentem, 
Clade  pari  exagitat  Philippum. 


Te  qui  minorem  te  superis  geiis, 

Culpamque  fletu  diluis  agnitam, 

Mitis  parens  placatus  audit, 

Et  solitum  cumulat  flavorem. 


For  Philip,  lord  of  Arragon, 

Of  haughty  Charles  the  haughty  son, 

The  clouds  still  gather  dark  and  dun, 

The  sky  still  scowls  ; 
And  round  his  gorgeous  galleon 

The  tempest  howls. 

Thou,  when  th'  Almighty  Ruler  dealt 
The  blows  thy  kingdom  lately  felt, 
Thy  brow  unhelm'd,  unbound  thy  belt. 

Thy  feet  unshod. 
Humbly  before  the  chastener  knelt, 

And  kiss'd  the  rod. 


Redintegratse  nee  tibi  gratise 
Obscura  promit  signa.     Sub  algido 
Nox  Capricorno  longa  terras 
Perpetuis  tenebris  premebat. 


Pardon  and  peace  thy  penance  bought  ; 
Joyful  the  seraph  Mercy  brought 
The  olive-bough,  with  blessing  fraught 

For  thee  and  France  ; — 
God  for  thy  captive  kingdom  wrought 

Deliverance. 


Rigebat  auris  bruma  nivalibus, 
Amnes  acuto  constiterant  gelu. 
Deform  is  horror  incubabat 
Jugeribus  viduis  colono. 


At  signa  castris  Francus  ut  extulit 
Ductorque  Franci  Guizius  agminis, 
Arrisit  algenti  sub  arcto 
Temperies  melioris  aurse. 


'Twas    dark    and    drear !    'twas    winter's 

reign!  . 

Grim  horror  walk'd  the  lonesome  plam  ; 
The  ice  held  bound  with  crystal  chain 

Lake,  flood,  and  rill ; 
And  dismal  piped  the  hurricane 

His  music  shrill. 

But  when  the  gallant  Guise  display'd 
The  flag  of  France,  and  drew  the  blade. 
Straight  the  obsequious  season  bade 

Its  rigour  cease  ; 
And,  lowly  crouching,  homage  paid 

The  Fleur  de  Lvs. 


358 


The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


Hyems  retuso  languida  spiculo 
Vim  mitigavit  frigoris  asperi, 
Siccis  per  hybernum  serenum 
Nube  cava  stetit  imber  arvis. 


Ergo  nee  altis  tuta  paludibus 
Tulere  vires  moenia  Gallicas  ; 
Nee  arcibus  tutae  paludes 
Praeeipitem  tenubre  eursum. 


LoR.'EN'E  prineeps  !  praeeipuo  Dei 
Favore  felix,  prseeipuas  Deus 
Cui  tradidit  partes,  superbos 
Ut  premeres  domitriee  dextra. 


Unius  anni  curriculo  sequens  _ 
Vix  eredet  aetas  promeritas  tibi 
Tot  laureas,  nee  si  per  aethram 
Pegasea*  veherere  penna. 


Cessere  saltus  ninguidi,  et  Alpium 
Inserta  eoelo  culmina,  cum  pater. 
Romanus  oraret,  propinquae  ut 
Subjiceres  humeros  ruinae. 


Defensa  Roma,  et  capta  Valentia, 
Coacta  pacem  Parthenope  pati, 
Fama  tui  Segusianus 
Barbarica  face  liberatus. 


iEquor  proeellis,  terra  paludibus, 
Armis  Britanxus,  moenia  saecuiis 
Invicta  longis  insolentes 
Munierant  animos  Caletum  : 


Loraena  virtus,  sueta  per  invia 
Non  usitatum  carpere  tramitem, 
Invicta  devincendo,  famam 
Laude  nova  veterem  refellit. 


Ferox  Britanni's  viribus  antehac 
Gallisque  semper  cladibus  imminens, 
Vix  se  putat  securum  ab  hoste 
Fluctibus  Oceani  diremptus. 


Winter  his  violence  withheld, 
His  progeny  of  tempests  quell'd, 
His  canopy  of  clouds  dispell'd, 

Unveil'd  the  sun — 
And  blithesome  days  unparallel'd 

Began  to  run. 

Twas  then  beleaguer'd  Calais  found, 
With  swamps  and  marshes  fenced  around, 
With  counterscarp,  and  moat,  and  mound, 

And  yawning  trench. 
Vainly  her  hundred  bulwarks  frown'd 

To  stay  the  French. 

Guise  !  child  of  glory  and  Lorraine, 
Ever  thine  house  hath  proved  the  bane 
Of  France's  foes  !  aye  from  the  chain 

Of  slavery  kept  her, 
And  to  the  teeth  of  haughty  Spain 

Upheld  her  sceptre. 

Scarce  will  a  future  age  believe 

The  deeds  one  year  saw  thee  achieve  : 

Fame  in  her  narrative  should  give 

Thee  magic  pinions 
To  range,  with  free  prerogative. 

All  earth's  dominions. 

What  were  the  year's  achievements  ?  first. 
Yon  Alps  their  barrier  saw  thee  burst, 
To  bruise  a  reptile's  head,  who  durst, 

With  viper  sting. 
Assail  (ingratitude  accurst !) 

Rome's  Pontiff- King. 

To  rescue  Rome,  capture  Plaisance, 
Make  Naples  yield  the  claims  of  France, 
While  the  mere  shadow  of  thy  lance 

O'erawed  the  Turk  :^ 
Such  was,  within  the  year's  expanse, 

Thy  journey-work. 

But  Calais  yet  remain'd  unwon — 

Calais,  stronghold  of  Albion, 

Her  zone  begirt  with  blade  and  gun, 

In  all  the  pomp 
And  pride  of  war  ;  fierce  Amazon  ! 

Queen  of  a  swamp  ! 

But  even  she  hath  proven  frail. 
Her  walls  and  swamps  of  no  avail  ; 
What  citadel  may  Guise  not  scale, 

Climb,  storm,  and  seize? 
What  foe  before  thee  may  not  quail, 

O  gallant  Guise  ! 

Thee  let  the  men  of  England  dread, 
Whom  Edward  erst  victorious  led. 
Right  joyful  now  that  ocean's  bed 

P>etween  them  rolls 
And  thee  ! — that  thy  triumphant  tread 

Yon  wave  controls. 


*  Buchanan  appears  to  have  the  following  verse  of  Hesiod  in  view: 

Ttjv  \i.^v  IIrjYa<70s  et\e  Kai  ecr^Aos  B€XAcpo<^wf7T79. —  Tlieogoiiia. 


Modem  Latin  Poets. 


359 


Regina,  pacem  nescia  perpeti 
Jam  spreta  moeret  fosdera  :  Jam  Dei 
Iram  timet  sibi  imminentem 
Vindicis  et  furiae  flagellum. 


Huic  luce  terror  Martius  assonat, 
Diraeque  caedis  mens  sibi  conscia, 
Umbraeque  nccturnae,  quietem 
Terrificis  agitant  figuris. 


Let  ruthless  Mary  learn  from  hence 

That  Perfidy's  a  foul  offence ; 

That  falsehood  hath  its  recompense  ; 

That  treaties  broken. 
The  anger  of  Omnipotence 

At  length  have  woken. 

May  e\41  counsels  prove  the  bane 
And  curse  of  her  unhallow'd  reign  ; 
Remorse,  with  its  disastrous  train, 

Infest  her  palace  ; 
And  may  she  of  God's  vengeance  drain 

The  brimming  chalice ! 


Every  schoolboy  knows  that  this  event  broke  Queen  Mary's  heart,  so  incon- 
solable was  she  for  the  loss  of  those  "  keys  of  France"  which  the  monarchs  of 
England,  from  Edward  to  the  blufif  Harry,  had  gloried  in  wearing  suspended 
to  the  royal  girdle. 

Of  Buchanan's  career  on  his  return  to  Scotland,  and  his  conduct  as  a  poli- 
tician and  courtier,  I  rather  say  nothing,  than  not  enter  fully  into  that  intricate 
subject  as  it  deserves.  The  limits  of  this  paper  do  not'  allow  me  the  latter 
alternative.  As  a  poet  his  career  terminated  when  the  gates  of  state  intrigue 
were  thrown  open  to  his  ingress,  and  so  I  bid  him  farewell  on  the  threshold.  His 
"  Maias  Calends,"  his  "  Epicoedium  on  the  Death  of  John  Calvin,"  his  poem 
' '  De  Sphaera,"  his  translations  from  Euripides,  his  elegiac  pcetr)-,  all  his  titles  to 
renown  had  been  already  won  ere  he  entered  on  the  stage  as  a  political  partisan. 
By  the  way,  John  Milton  has  translated  his  tragedy  of  "  Baptistes,"  if  we  are  to 
credit  Peck's  edition  of  the  bard  of  Paradise.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that 
Buchanan's  "  De  Jure  Regni  apud  Scotos,"  a  wonderful  step  in  Radicahsm  for 
that  day,  was  the  prototype  of  the  CromweUian  secretary's  "  Defensio  pro  Populo 
Anglicano."  It  appears  that  Buchanan  had  some  share  in  the  education  of 
Michel  Montaigne — a  glorious  feather  in  his  cap,  if  it  be  not  a  borrowed  one. 
Crichton  was  certainly  his  scholar  ;  and  no  better  proof  of  the  fact  can  be 
afforded  than  the  following  lyric  (from  the  MS.  found  by  me  in  an  old  tnmk,  as 
before  stated),  a  copy  of  which  I  fear  has  got  abroad  in  IBums's  time,  he  having 
somehow  transferred  the  sentiments  it  expresses  most  literally  to  a  song  of  his 
set  to  a  well-known  tune.  However,  it  is  clear  that  Crichtcn's  claim  cannot  be 
invalidated  by  any  ex  post  facto  concern  ;  to  him  the  original  version  of  the 
matter  belongs  undoubtedly,  or  else  I  am  no  judge.  In  fact,  the  thing  speaks 
for  itself. 


JOANNEM  AXDRE.E  FILIUM 
ANUS  UXOR  ALLOQUITUR. 


{From  the  unpuMished  Works  of  tlie 
Admirable  Crichton.) 

Senex  Joannes  I  dulcis  amor  tuae 
Anilis  aeque  conjugis  !  integra 

Cum  nos  juventa  jungeremur 

Quam  bene  caesaries  nitebat  ! 
Frontis  marito  qualis  erat  decor  !_ 
Nunc,  heu  !  nivalis  canities  premit, 

NuUcE  sed  his  canis  capillis 

Illecebras  mihi  cariores  ! 


THE  OLD  HOUSEWIFE'S 
ADDRESS  TO  HER  GUDE- 
MAX. 

{Translated into  broad  Scotch  by  Robert 
Burns,  of  the  Excise.') 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent. 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 

Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent ; 
But  now  your  head's  tum'd  bald,  John, 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snow. 
But  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 


36o  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


Quando,  Joannes  mi  bone  !  primitus 
Natura  rerum  finxit  imagines 
Formam  elaboravit  virilem, 
Hoc  ut  opus  fieret  magistrum. 
Sed,  inter  omnes  quas  opifex  pia 
Struxit  figuras  artifici  manu, 
Curavit  ut  membris  et  ore 
Nulla  foret  tibi  par  Joannes  ! 

Tibi  rosarum  primitias  dedi, 
Vernosque  virgo  Candida  flosculos, 

Nee  fonte  miraris  quod  illo 

Delicias  repetam  perennes  : 
Jam  te  senilem,  jam  veterem  vocant  ; 
Varum  nee  illis  credula,  nee  tibi, 

Oblita  vel  menses,  vel  annos, 

Haurio  perpetuos  amores. 

Propago  nobis  orta  parentibus, 
Crevit  remoti  aucta  nepotibus, 
At  nos  m  asmborum  calentes 
Usque  sinu  recreamur  ambo  J 
Hyems  amori  nulla  supervenit — 
Nos  semper  ulnis  in  mutuis  beat, 
Tibique  perduro  superstes 
Qualis  eram  nitida  juventa. 

Patris  voluptas  quanta  domesticam 
(Dum  corde  mater  palpitat  intimo) 

Videre  natorum  coronam 

Divitias  humilis  tabernae  ! 
Videre  natos  reddere  moribus 
Mores  parentum,  reddere  vultibus 

Vultus,  et  exemplo  fideles 

Tendere  cum  proavis  Olympo. 

Heu  !  mi  Joannes,  Temporis  alite 
Penna  quot  anni,  quotque  boni  dies 
Utrumque  fugerunt  !  suprema 
Jamque  brevi  properabit  hora. — 
Mortis  prehendet  dextera  conjuges 
Non  imparatos.  non  timidos  mori, 
Vit^que  functos  innoeenti. 
Nee  sine  spe  melioris  aevi ! 

Vitae  labores  consociavimus, 
Montana  juncti  vicimus  ardua, 
Et  nunc  potiti  gaudiorum 
Culmine  quid  remoramur  ultra  ? 
Dextris  revinctis,  per  semitas  retro 
Lenes,  petamus  vallis  iter  senex  ! 
Qua  vir  et  uxor  dormiamus 
Unius  in  gremio  sepulchrL 


John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

When  Nature  first  began 
To  try  her  cannie  hand,  John, 

Her  master- work  was  man  ; 
And  you  amang  them  all,  John, 

Sae  trig  frae  top  to  toe. 
She  proved  to  be  nae  journey-wark, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

Ye  were  my  first  conceit, 
And  ye  need  na  think  it  strange,  John, 

That  I  ea'  ye  trim  and  neat  : 
Though  some  folks  say  you're  old,  John, 

I  never  think  ye  so. 
But  I  think  you're  aye  the  same  to  me, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

We've  seen  our  bairnies'  bairns. 
And  yet,  my  dear  John  Anderson, 

I'm  happy  in  your  arms  ; 
And  so  are  ye  in  mine,  John — 

I'm  sure  you'll  ne'er  say  no, 
Tho'  the  days  are  gane  that  ye  have  seen, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

What  pleasure  does  it  gi'e 
To  see  sae  many  sprouts,  John, 

Spring  up  'tween  you  and  me  ! 
And  ilka  lad  and  lass,  John, 

In  our  footsteps  to  go, 
Make  perfect  heaven  here  on  earth, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

Frae  year  to  year  we've  pass'd, 
And  soon  that  year  maun  come,  John, 

Will  bring  us  to  our  last ; 
But  let  not  that  affright  us,  John, 

Our  hearts  were  ne'er  our  foe. 
While  in  innocent  delight  we  lived, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 

John  Anderson  my  jo,  John, 

We've  clamb  the  hill  thegither, 
And  monie  a  cantie  day,  John, 

We've  had  wi'  ane  anither  ; 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go, 
And  we'll  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 

John  Anderson  my  jo. 


XIX. 

Jfai^^r   ^r0ut's   gtrge» 

(Fraser's  Magazine,  Jayiuary,  1836.) 


[Considerably  more  than  half  the  opening  instalment  of  Regma  for  1836  was  set  apart, 
to  the  number  of  exactly  eighty  pages,  for  a  laboured  piece  of  pleasantry  purporting  to 
be  a  Parliamentary  Report  of  the  Proceedings  instituted  at  the  close  of  last  session  to 
inquire  into  the  conduct  and  to  regulate  the  future  management  of  Fraser's  Magazine. 
Instead  of  Lords  and  Commons,  Immortals  to  the  number  of  twenty,  and  Mortals  to  the 
number  of  one  hundred  and  thirty-six,  were  there  represented  as  having  been  called  together 
by  Oliver  Yorke  in  the  name  of  his  and  their  putative  Sovereign.  The  record_  of  the 
proceedings,  now  that  it  comes  to  be  looked  back  at  in  cold  blood,  presents  to  view  the 
wildest  imaginable  extravagance,  the  contributors  and  their  friends  (and  enemies)  indulg- 
ing in  horse-play  and  high  jinks  alternately.  Songs  and  speeches,  about  as  coherent  as 
Foote's  nonsense  verses,  are  intermingled  in  the  utmost  confusion.  There  is  a  procession 
like  a  march  through  Coventry,  and  a  festival  of  Gargantuan  proportions,  that  is  in  the 
delirium  of  its  fun  ;  and,  as  the  climax  of  it  all,  the  Ghost  of  Father  Prout,  rising  in 
answer  to  the  crowning  incantation,  delivers  the  speech  and  chants  the  dirge  which  are 
here  subjoined.] 

The  Ghost  of  Father  Prout  here  held  forth  his  whisky  bottle,  and  begged  to 
be  heard  in  a  case  of  ' '  narration."  Even  the  feminines  were  quieted  instanter. 
He  addressed  himself  to  the  subject  not  before  the  meeting  in  these  interesting 
and  disinterested  terms  of  art  : — 

"Yorke  and  Bovs  !— without  exception,  you  are  the  queerest  lads  ever 
generated  out  of  the' beautiful  city  called  Cork.  \Vell,  let  all  that  be  buried 
in  immemorial  oblivion.  Living  heroes  of  the  world  of  letters,  listen  !  Immortal 
as  are  vour  lustrous  and  illustrious  souls,  you  can't  live  here  on  earth  for  ever. 
No  clay  could  ever  stand  the  steadfast  fires  of  your  ardent  minds  for  more 
than  a  hundred  years.  Down  your  tenements  must  inevitably  fall ;  for  the  sus- 
taining life  within  them,  now  'glowing  Uke  a  candle  '  in  a  grotto  '  of  oyster- 
shells,  must  soar  to — 

'  An  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air,  ^ 
And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleams.' 

There  can  be  no  question  but  you  will  be  chuckled  over,  shouted  over,  Tio'^^^^ 
over  by  '  the  base,  the  dull,  the  cold.'  Supposing,  then,  that  you  were  all  dead 
{great sensatio7^)—%^x^^^Q%vci%,  I  say,  that  vou  were  all  dead  {i?icreast??g  sensation), 
supposing  (but  I  won't  repeat)  that  you,  gentlemen,  were  each  of  you  one 
of  us,'  the  dirge  which  I  should  submit,  not  to  you  but  to  your  adversaries, 
would  run  as  follows  : — 


362 


T-lic  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


"DIRGE. 

"  Now  DuIImen  all  be  merr>',  O  I 
While  the  Fraser  boys  they  bury,  O  ! 

To  curse  their  grave, 

I  11  chant  a  stave 
To  the  tune  of  Derrj-,  derr>-,  O  ! 

"  So  give  your  hearts  to  glee  for  once, 
And  we  will  have  a  spree  for  once  ; 

While  our  lemonade, 

Tn  proud  cascade, 
Shall  rival  barley  bree  for  once. 

"  Sing  riggledum  diggledum  razor,  O  ! 
Soiv  we'll  astonish  each  gazer,  O  ! 

And  to  sky-cock'd  ears 

We'll  bray  proud  cheers 
"Gainst  the  Lions  who  roar'd  in  Fraser,  O  ! 

*•  Don't,  Dullmen,  be  too  merr^-,  O  1 
Should  the  Fraser  boys  they  bury,  O  ! 
For  the  bright  and  brave. 
In  a  glorious  grave, 
Will  be  deaf  to  your  Derr>%  derr>-,  O  ! 

"  So  rather  plunge  in  grief  each  dunce, 
Shedding  'iron  tears,'  that  brief,  for  once, 
Has  been  the  reign 
Of  blood  and  brain 
That  gave  the  world  relief,  for  once  ! 

"  Sing  riggledum  diggledum  razor,  O  ! 
There'll  be  tears  in  the  eyes  of  each  gazer,  O  ! 
As  they  follow  the  hearse 
Of  deep  Prose  and  Verse, 
Which  we  feel  will  be  buried  with  Fraser,  O  ! " 

This  solemn  psalm  caused  the  blushes  of  the  ladies  to  be  transferred  to  the 
cheeks  of  the  gentlemen;  and,  "smoothing  the  raven  down  of  darkness  till  it 
smiled."  the  bright  Aurora  bowed  her  sable  rival  out  of  "  cloudland,  gorgeous 
land,  "and  "  Honour  to  Woman  "  once  again  sung,  the  ladies  withdrew,  to  give 
a  beautiful  embodmient  of  the  Byronian  image— 

"  The  slumbers  of  each  folded  flower." 

And.  as  for  the  men,  having  shaken  hands  (if  hand-shaking  it  could  be  called) 

with  the  ghosts,  . 

"  Evanishing  amid  the  storm, 

they— the  men,    not  the  ghosts— took  care  of  themselves  as  true  Fraserians 
ahvavs  can  and  do. 


XX. 

{Fraser's  Magazine,  March,  1836.) 


— 0 — 


[Father  Prout,  in  this  Paper,  may  be  said  to  have  adventured,  ^.^^^^^.^^^f/y^^^jgfo^^^ 
in  inv  wav  possible  under  the  circumstances,  upon  a  sort  of  serio-comic  selt-examination. 
Like  each  o?hisot£r  Papers,  it  is  introduced  with  incidental  remarks  purportnig  to  convey 
the  dispassionate  opinion^s  of  an  outsider  on  the  disquisitions  °  ^^e  dead-and-gon^^^ 
Priest  of  Watererasshill.  This  comprehensive  criticism  by  himse  f  ot  the  u  hole  ot  tne 
RSes^ienThey  were  collectively  -published,  appeared  in  the  nun^^^^^^^ 
containing  MacUse's  whimsical  etching  of  the  Rev.  William  Lisk  f^jlj^'  ^^^^^  P 
1786,  of  Fourteen  Sonnets,  representing  the  bald-headed  ^o^^^^^^.^/^^f  i  '  ^^  .^nk 
cloak  and  arraved  in  hessians,  each  of  the  latter  a  world  too  wide  for  his  shiunk  sh?nk 
his  haraiduXelta  being  at 'the  same  time  disposed  about  him  as  conspicuously  as  Paul 
Pri''s  might  have  been  in  a  well-posed  portrait  of  that  farcical  hercj 


H  (^1X0%  avijp-  Jj  </>tXos  ox^oi 
$t.\«  yap  KiKivtitv  ij^i; 
•K-  *  * 

I6l    IKOV 

E\y'  u-tt'  uKpnv  iwpvfJ. 

(iuv  ux^ou  KupGufxucpopoio. — ESCHYL.  Fersa. 

"An  infallible  aire  for  the  Maw-^.vorms:-Votx  fortis  quartum  unum,  rowloinam 
bro.truf:SimTm  tres  :  his  addatur  butyri  cuUnaris  quantum  valeat  duos  d^nar^o^ 
cum  bunsho  radishorum  vel  Watergrass.  "-Swift,  Tnpos,  Act  I.  (Scott  s  i.aition. 
vol.  iv.  p.  231.) 

THE  thinking  portion  of  the  public  n^ust  have  ^^^^^^^^^^eraW^^^ 
and  the  rest  Sf  mankmd  lost  itself  in  vam  conjecture   to  ^^coun   for  the  g  arm 
fact  of  our  having,  for  several  months  back   stopped  the  supphes  from  >^^  atj^ 
grasshill.  and  discontinued  our  accustomed  issues  of  Prout  Paper     ^-^^^^ 
hard,  in  sooth,  to  cloak  so  obvious  a  deficit  in  the  7°"°"^^  °!  ^fdicuTents 
IMagkzine  :  and  we  therefore  fain  admit  that,  as  far  as  ^hose    aluable  doc^^^^^^^^ 
are  Concerned,  Regina  hath,  since  November  last,  e-:^;^!^!  ed   ^^ha^  sc^enUhc 
men  are  agreed  to  denominate,  "a  solution  of  con  mui ty,  ^"^^^^jf^^^^^^^ 
describe  sSch  appearance  by  the  established  formula  ''  "f''J^l^^,^%'^'Z^^^^ 
the  same  being  called,  by  Lady  Morgan.  "  a  hole  in  ^^e  ^alkd^      No  douDt 
Glorvina's  vernacular  phraseology  properly  describes  the  ^/^^^^^^  "^^^^;.  °*    Je 
case-  nor  can  we  account  for  the  circumstance  otherwise  than  by  laying  tne 


3^4 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


blame  on  a  Fraserian  who  went  oflf  last  autumn  to  Italy,  taking  with  him  the 
key  of  the  chest.  A  gaping  void  was  thus  occasioned  in  the  periodical  htera- 
ture  of  the  land — an  awful  chasm,  to  fill  up  which  no  "Roman"  has  been 
found  wiUing  to  devote  himself  to  the  infernal  gods.  The  known  abhorrence  of 
forgery  in  all  its  branches  has  prevented  us  from  applying  to  the  Smiths  (James 
or  Horace).     The  coffer  has  remained  unopened,  and  the  vacuum  unclosed. 

Even  had  we  been  disposed  to  practise  an  imposition  on  the  public,  the  thing, 
in  this  instance,  were  impossible.  Front's  chest  and  its  contents  being  matters 
apart  and  unique ;  nor  could  any  modem  hommc  de  lettres  be  found  to  per- 
sonate successfully  our  vieux  de  la  montagne. 

To  bend  the  bow  of  Ulysses,  to  wield  the  gridiron  of  Cobbett,  to  revive  the 
sacred  pigeon  of  Mahomet,  to  reinflate  the  bagpipe  of  Ossian,  to  reproduce 
the  meal-tub  of  Titus  Oates,  or  (when  Dan  goes  to  his  long  account)  to  get 
up  a  begging-box,  must  necessarily  be  hopeless  speculations.  Under  the 
management  of  the  original  and  creative  genius  these  contrivances  may  work 
well  ;  but  they  invariably  fail  in  the  hands  of  copyists  or  imitators. 

This  affords  us  a  desirable  opportunity  of  animadverting  on  the  erroneous 
theories  of  a  new  weekly  periodical,  called  Fraser  s  Literary  Chronicle,  in  the 
fifth  number  of  which  appeared  a  polyglot  "  Lament  of  all  Nations  on  the 
Death  of  the  late  Mr.  Simpson,"  the  renowned  Master  of  Ceremonies  at  Vaux- 
hall.  In  the  oecumenic  grief  for  Simpson  we  cordially  concur  ;  great  men  are, 
in  fact,  becoming  every  day  more  scarce  among  us — 

"  We  are  fallen  on  evil  days. 
Star  after  star  decays  ;" 

but  we  cannot  approve  of  the  arrangement  proposed  for  supplying  the  deficiency. 
Not  attending  to  the  fact,  that  a  truly  original  character  can  have  no  successor 
in  whatever  peculiar  department  of  excellence  he  has  made  his  «vn,  this 
imaginative  chroniqueur  has  indulged  in  the  fanciful  contemplation  of  various 
personages  undertaking  to  fill  the  vacant  office  ;  and  finally  hits,  with  curious 
infelicity,  on  a  ci-devant  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England  as  the  best  quali- 
fied of  the  numerous  aspirants  for  the  empty  cock  hat.  We  give  insertion  to 
this  "  Lament,"  that  all  may  judge  of  its  absurdity  : — 

Ergo  LuDORUM  periit  Magister 
Et  suburban!  moderator  horti 
Arbiter  Simison  elegantium 

Ivit  ad  orcum. 

Jamque  vulgaris  petit  umbra  manes. 
Splendid©  frontem  minor  heu  galero 
Nee  senis,  de.\tram  regit,  ut  soltbat, 
Aurea  virga. 

Horridi  turba  male  mixtus  errat, 
Nee  salutantem  tenet  hortus  ilium 
Amplitis  noster,  neque  dirigentum 
Publica  festa. 

Quis  viri  t.nnti  poterit  subire, 
Munus  et  diram  reparare  damnum  ! 
Quam  voeat  Vau.xhall  mage  eandidatum 
Sede  vacante. 


Cui  dabit  partes  nemus  hoc  habendi 
Jupiter  !  tandem  venias  precamur 
iEre  mendicos  humeros  omustus 

Suavis  O'Connell. 


Father  Proiifs  Self -Examination.  365 

Sive  tu  mavis  benedicte  Roebuck, 
Quern  decor  linguae  notat  et  venustas 
Quippe  deposcunt  ea  delicatos 

Munera  mores. 

Sive  mutata  veterum  figura 
SiMPSOXEM  in  terris  imitatis,  altae 
Curiae  prseses  patiens  vocari 

"  Brougham  et  VauxhalL" 

Sumat  Henricus  vacuos  honores 
Hie  amet  dici  pater  atque  praeses 
Coetui  quendo  procerum  praecosbe 

Curia  non  wXt. 

The  writer  of  these  Sapphics  evidently  takes  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that,  on 
the  extinction  or  disappearance  of  any  shining  Hght,  an  equivalent  mav  be 
readily  found  in  some  fresh  luminary;  or  that,  as  among  the  torch-carriers 
(cacoDxoi)  of  old,  the  transfer  of  Simpson's  gold-headed  cane  to  the  hands 
that  whilom  wielded  with  such  becoming  dignity  the  chancellor's  mace,  were 
a  natural  and  feasible  operation.  This  is  a  grave'mistake.  The  process  would, 
if  generally  adopted,  produce  unspeakable  confusion  in  the  social  and  political 
world.  It  is  in  vain  to  argue  that  some  men  are  endowed  bv  nature  with  such 
prodigious  versatility  of  talent,  that  it  is  to  them  a  matter  of  indifference 
whether  they  fill  the  highest  situation  on  what  is  called  the  bench  {scavunnm), 
or  preside  as  tutelar}' genius  over  a  garden — Fu7-ti7n  aviinnque  maxima  formido. 
This  may  be  very  well  as  far  as  they  are  concerned ;  but  the  public  likes  to  see 
every  one  in  his  proper  place;  the  "  fitness  of  things"  being  best  promoted  by 
such  arrangements.  Nostradamus,  arrayed  in  the  solemn  accoutrements  of  his 
profession,  and  engaged  in  the  diffusion  of  useftil  knowledge  among  the  rustics 
of  France,  forms  in  our  minds  eye  an  impersonation  of  individual  excellence 
distinct,  one,  and  indivisible  ;  Fetronius  Arbiter  supplies  another.  Brou<^ham 
and  Simpson  may  have  each  h3.<lz.pariicular  of  the  auro  divinior  which  dwelt 
in  the  corporeal  envelope  of  their  great  predecessors ;  but  the  metempsychosis, 
in  my  fuller  sense,  can  never  be  said  to  take  place,  much  less  (as  in  the  pro- 
posed transmission  of  the  M.  C.ship  of  Vauxhall)  can  the  funcuons  of  the  one 
at  all  coalesce  in  our  imagination,  or  amalgamate  with  the  attnbutions  of  the 
other.  Some  fancy  they  can  perceive,  in  the  quarter  alluded  to,  a  counterpart 
of  the  illustrious  Lord  Verulam.  As  we  just  said,  there  are  points  of  resem- 
blance; but  the  ingenuity  of  Plutarch  would  be  expended  in  vain,  on  ekino" 
out  those  points  into  an  historical  parallel.  A  cracked  barrel  organ  has  a  term 
in  common  with  the  "  Novum  Organum,"  and  the  merest  gammon  may  claim 
some  sort  of  affinity  to  Bacon. 

In  the  annals  of  hterary,  as  well  as  political  impostorship,  we  apprehend  the 
same  trick  will  hardly  be  found  to  succeed  twice  ;  and  a  remarkable  instance 
just  now  occurs  in  the  untimely  end  of  the  "  Roebuck  Pamphlets,"  which  we 
find  registered  in  the  bills  of  periodical  mortality.  A  case  far  more  akin  to 
Front's  Papers  suggests  itself  to  us  in  that  of  the  "  Persian  Letters,"  which,  at 
their  first  appearance  in  1721,  carried  Paris  by  storm,  and  from  the  bold  effron- 
tery of  their  mock  orientalism,  led  to  a  general  belief  in  their  authenticity. 
The  consequence  was  obvious.  "Faifes  71021s  des  '  Lettrcs  Persa7i7ies '  "  was  the 
injunction  of  every  French  bookseller  to  his  hack.  The  idea  was  quickly  caught 
up,  and  worked  out  into  innumerable  forms  ;  but  none  produced  the  effect 
wrought  on  gentle  readers  when  Montesquieu's  youthful  production  first  beamed 
on  the  dulness  of  contemporary  publications.  "Chinese  Letters,"  "  Lettres 
Peruviennes,"  "The  Turkish  Spy,"  Don  Espriella's  "Letters  from  England," 
and  "  Anacharsis  in  Greece"  were  some  of  the  numerous  maggots  hatched  into 


3(^6 


The  Wqrks  of  Father  Front. 


life  by  the  brilliant  ray  of  that  original  conception  ;  an  "  illustrious  foreigner's" 
opinion  of  things  in  general  became  the  received  vehicle  of  conveying  gossip, 
criticism,  and  information.  But  it  was  in  the  nature  of  things  that  httle  of  the 
primaeval  spark  should  have  communicated  itself  to  the  slimy  spawn  that  crawled 
into  being  under  the  warm  influence  of  Montesquieu's  creative  fancy;  and  in  a 
late  specimen  called  "  Pencillings  by  the  Way,"  written  under  the  fictitious 
character  of  an  American  attache,  may  be  seen  how  wofully  the  information 
and  the  criticism  have  departed  from  that  species  of  composition,  leaving  gossip 
alone  as  the  fiat  and  unprofitable  residuum. 

These  considerations  have  deterred  us  from  adopting  the  practice  too  preva- 
lent in  the  world  of  letters  of  personating  a  dead  or  favourite  writer,  and  so 
deluding  the  publi,:  by  supposititious  authorship.  Hence,  since  the  above- 
mentioned  epoch  (viz.,  the  Hegira  of  the  Key),  no  paper  has  been  sent  abroad 
by  us  under  the  name  of  Prout  :  the  chest  has  remained 


"  Lone  as  the  hung-up  lute,  that  ne'er  hath  spoken 
Since  the  sad  day  its  master-chord  was  broken." 

Meantime  our  country  correspondent?  have  waxed  clamorous  at  the  cessation 
of  these  monthly  essays,  in  a  way  that  abundantly  testified  the  serious  nature 
of  the  privation.  Marco  Tulli,  quid  agis  f  was  of  old  the  searching  inter- 
rogatory addressed  by  all  Italy  to  her  consul  in  the  heated  imagination  of  Cicero 
(Cat.  IV.).  The  same  question  has  been  put  to  us  in  black  and  white  from 
every  quarter  of  the  empire.  Bniie  dermis  i  was  the  billet-dou.x  flung  into  the 
Icctico  of  a  reluctant  and  justly  hesitating  conspirator,  by  some  kind  friend 
anxious  in  those  days,  like  many  2i  patriot  in  our  own, 

"To  make  the  fun  stir " 

at  the  risk  and  peril  of  another.     To  us  the  same  challenge  has  been  conveyed 
with  a  less  tragic  intent,  though  in  equally  laconic  form,  viz. — 

Father  Prout 
What  are  ye  about  ? — 

an  e.xhortatory  couplet  from  the  pen  of  Jerdan,  the  illustrious  Gazetteer. 

All  have  not  confined  themselves  to  exhortation.  Some  folks  have  got  it  into 
their  heads  that  we  are  not  at  liberty  to  withhold  these  "Papers"  from  the 
public,  and  that  Prout's  coffer  should  of  right  be,  like  the  crown  of  these  realms, 
"  merely  held  in  trust  for  the  benejit  of  the  people."  Our  claims  to  these  post- 
humous treasures  is  not  recognized  unless  subject,  as  hitherto,  to  monthly  divi- 
dends ;  and  the  stoppage  is  viewed  as  an  attempt  to  defraud  a  host  of  creditors. 
By  the  Lord  !  from  the  tenor  of  some  communications,  it  would  be  supposed 
that  the  pillar  at  the  end  of  the  street  was  erected  to  Oliver  Yorke,  and  not 
to  a  far  more  illustrious  personage. 

It  were  useless  to  remonstrate  with  these  people.  Such  continued  and  mer- 
ciless exigency  would  refuse  to  old  Homer,  were  he  under  t^<':r  control,  the 
enjoyment  of  an  occasional  nap.  or  to  Milton  his  usual  id"..  .-<•  is  .n.  which  we 
beheve  regularly  came  on  about  tlie  equinox.  They  would  li.ne  us  shower 
down  Prout  Papers  on  the  worid  all  the  year  round,  with  the  facility  and  pro- 
fusion of  "  leaf-shaking  Pelion  " — 


\\n\iOV  i.\vO(Ti(\>uWoV. 


They  would  require  us  to  strew  the  paths  of  literature  with  the  foliage  of 
Watergrasshill— 


Father  Proufs  Self -Examination.  367 


"  Thick  as  autumnal  leaves 
In  Vallombrosa." 

With  these  we  do  not  stop  to  reason  or  apologize,  but  content  ourselves  with 
repeating  that  we  are  sorry  to  have  been  under  the  necessity,  for  the  reason 
already  assigned,  of  disobliging,  during  the  late  recess,  the  numerous  admirers 
of  our  old  gentleman  ;  the  editing  of  whose  MSS.  we  hope  shortly  to  resume  to 
the  satisfaction  of  the  pubhc— 

"Carmina  turn  melius  cum  venerit  ipse  canemus." 

Nevertheless,  it  strikes  us  there  has  been  no  lack  of  appropriate  pubhcations, 
pending  the  interruption  of  our  series,  while  Sol  was  in  his  apogee,  and  while 
liie'tow^  was  empty.  The  interval  has,  for  instance,  been  made  jocund  by  the 
';-!riultaneous  concert  of  those  innocent  and  playful  vocalists,  the  Annuals, 
who  with  instinctive  sagacity,  have  selected  that  period  for  their  praiseworthy 
performances.  "  Soft  was  the  strain,"  as  the  poet  of  the  "  Deserted  Village "' 
says  of  them,  when  in  the  spirit  of  prophecy  he  enumerates  their  several 

characteristics: —  .    ^ 

"At  evening  s  close, 
On  yonder  hill  the  \-illage  murmur  rose, 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung  : 
The  tuneful  cow  that  low'd  to  meet  her  young  ; 
The  plaj-ful  children  just  let  loose  from  school, 
The  noisy  ducks  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool." 

All  these  melodious  outpourings,  we  think,  amply  compensated  for  the 
silence  of  the  Father,  and  soothed  the  ear  of  the  deserted  metropolis  with  an 
agreeable  diversion  or  diversity  of  sound  :— 

"  All  these  in  sweet  succession  sought  the  shade,  ^^ 
And  fill'd  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made." 

In  the  meantime  we  have  not  been  idle,  we  have  recogitated  and  reperused, 
we  have  "  collected  and  arranged."  The  mere  transitory  enjoyment  of  good 
thino-s  has  not  sufficed  to  satisfy  or  to  satiate  us ;  and  we  know  we  will  readily 
find^xcuse  and  sympathy  if  we  acknowledge  to  have  cast  a  lingering  look  of 
retrospection  on  our  bvgone  jollifications  with  the  pastor  of  \\  atergrasshill.  In 
the  writings  of  Diodorus  Siculus  (1.  ii.  p.  109),  there  is  a  sentiment  attributed 
to  Sardanapalus,  which  in  a  Uterary  sense  we  are  tempted  to  adopt,  as  expressive 
of  what  we  experienced  in  ruminating  over  these  recollections  :— 

Ktiv'  lyjji  0(70-  Icpayov  kcu  i(pvf3pLaa  teal  fxtr'  tpojTO? 
"iipirv    tiradov'  tu  ck  iroWa  ical  o\j3ia  TTuvra  \i\ai.Tr  -ral; 

which  Greek  couplet  has  had  the  distinguished  honour  of  having  been  trans- 
lated by  no  less  a  distinguished  versifier  than  Cicero,  whose  Latin  distich  is  to 
the  following  effect : — 

"  Haec  habeo  quae  edi,  quaeque  exsaturata  libido  ^^ 

Haetsit  ut  ecce  jacent  quant.a.  et  pr.eclara  relicta. 

Whereupon,  though  Aristotle  has  denounced  the  Assyrian's  effusion  in  no 
very  measured  terms,  stating  it  to  be  only  "fit  for  a  hog,  we  will  imitate 
Tully,  and  give  it  currency  in  our  native  idiom  :— 

"  I've  revell'd  at  the  gorgeous  board  — 
Oft  as  they  fill'd  the  cup,  I  drank  it : 
Unsated  still  ;  fain  would  I  hoard 

The  splendid  remnants  of  the  banquet . 


368 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


So  spoke  the  voluptuary  of  Nineveh,  who  never  dreamed  that  we  would 
apply  his  dying  speech,  after  a  lapse  of  ages,  to  the  relics  of  Father  Prout,  and 
by  that  redeeming  use  of  a  swinish  sentiment  rebuke  the  saying  of  the  Stagyrite. 

"  Gather  the  fragnic7its  "  was  addressed  to  the  disciples  of  old  on  the  occa- 
sion of  a  beneficent  miracle.  The  consequence  of  such  injunction  was,  that  they 
filled  twelve  baskets  with  what  had  otherwise  been  wasted  in  the  desert.  We 
have  brought  together,  into  two  small  octavo  volumes,  the  scattered  remnants 
of  Prout's  loaves  and  fishes,  under  the  impression  that  some  may  be  glad  to 
feed  again  on  that  which  has  already  banqueted  so  many  thousands. 

Owing  to  the  limited  capacity  of  our  two  octavo  baskets,  we  have  not  been 
able  to  stow  away  all  the  hitherto  exhibited  morsels  [disject:i  membra)  of  the 
Father  within  the  prescribed  dimensions.  We  have,  therefore,  contented  our- 
selves with  securing  the  first  twelve  essays,  twelve  being  a  long-established 
numeral  in  high  credit  with  antiquity,  sacred  and  profane.  Are  there  not  the 
twelve  labours  of  Hercules,  twelve  signs  of  the  zodiac,  twelve  tribes,  twelve 
tables,  twelve  cantos,  twelve  judges,  twelve  months,  and  twelve  pence  ? 

The  first  of  these  volumes  opens  with  an  "Apology  for  Lent,"  elicited  by 
Bunn's  smuggling  attempt  to  get  up  the  sacred  oratorio  of  "  Jephthah,"  during 
this  solemn  season  at  Covent  Garden,  two  years  ago.  Truly  there  is  no  study 
so  instructive  as  the  inquiring  into  cause  and  effect ;  nor  any  that  occasionally 
unfolds  such  unexpected  combinations.  Thus,  Bishop  Blomfield's  vigorous 
and  successful  resistance  to  Bunn's  flagrant  innovation  led  to  the  publication 
of  Prout's  defence  of  salt-fish,  and  the  subsequent  conveyance  of  his  chest  into 
our  possession.  _ 

'     ~    '  '  "  his  funeral  and  an  eleg}', "  are  appended 

It  is  suitably  followed  up  by  "A  Plea  for 

of  Sir  Walter  Scott's   peregrination   to 

Hide  accedunt,  the  polyglot  version  of 

Father's  carousal  on  Watergrasshill,  the  secret  of  his 

in    "Dean  Swift's    Madness:  a  Tale  of   a  Chum,"  an 


An  account  of  the  Father's  death, 
to  that  deipnosophistic  dissertation. 
Pilgrimages,"   with  a  full  narrative 
Blarney  during  the  summer  of  1825. 
"  The  Groves,"  the 
parentage,  revealed 

edifying  expose  of  the  "  Rogueries  of  Tom  Moore,"  an  argument  in  the  manner 
of  TuUy,  pro  domo  sua,  entitled  "  Literature  and  the  Jesuits,  '  the  tome  being 
wound  up  with  Gresset's  immortal  poem,  "Vert-Vert,"  "done  "  into  English. 

The  contents  of  the  second  volume  comprise  the  Father's  four  papers  on  the 
songs  of  France,  with  two  on  the  lyrical  poetry  of  the  Italians — per  die  and 
per  baccho  !  a  goodly  selection  of  exotic  minstrelsy  !  In  careful  juxtaposition 
with  Prout's  translative  and  hermeneutic  labours,  we  have  placed  the  ever-endur- 
ing originals,  embodying,  as  they  do,  the  choicest  specimens  utrinsque  lirigucB. 
The  French  is  furnished  by  Beranger,  \'ictor  Hugo,  Casimir  de  la  X'igne,  Cha- 
teaubriand, Milleroye,  Alp.  de  la  Martine,  Clement  Marot,  &c.;  while  Petrarch, 
Filicaia,  Dante,  Zappi,  Tolomei,  Guidi,  Menzini,Vitorelli,  and  Michael  Angelo, 
supply  the  Italian.  That  there  might  be  a  pendant  to  Gresset's  poem  of  "The 
Parrot,"  which  concludes  Vol.  I.,  we  have  added  (from  the  series  of  Latin 
poets  by  the  Father)  Bishop  Vida's  canto  on  the  "  Silkworm,"  as  a  becoming 
finale  to  volume  the  second. 

Of  the  luminous  effulgence  flung  round  all  these  matters  by  that  brillant 
enlightener  (\a/i7raco</)opos)  Alfred  Croquis,  we  know  not  in  what  style  to 
speak  fittingly,  or  where  to  find  adequate  terms  of  eulog)'.  "Illustrated  " 
books  are,  now-a-days,  common  enough;  but  we  must  say  that  Prout  has  been 
singularly  fortunate  in  meeting  with  such  an  Apelles  as  figures  here.  Pos- 
terity will  be  justly  puzzled  to  decide  whether  the  letterpress  was  got  up  to  act 
as  handmaid  to  the  engravings,  or  whether  the  latter  was  destined  to  be  ancil- 
lary to  the  book  ;  just  as  it  is  still  a  qucrstio  vexata  among  the  learned  whether 
Virgil  composed  his  episode  from  having  previously  seen  the  Laocoon,  or  the 
sculptor  his  group  from  the  outline  in  the  "-'Eneid."  Our  own  opinion  is  so  well 
expressed  by  Miguel  Cervantes,  that  we  shall  content  ourselves  with  quoting 


Father  Proui's  Self -Examination.  369 

the  original  Spanish  :  "  Para  mio  solo  nocio  (Don  Quixote)  y  yo  para  el,  El 
supo  obrar  y  yo  escrivir,  Solos  los  dos  somos  para  en  uno."  The  present  is'  the 
first  continuous  exploit  of  Croquis  in  this  particular  province  of  pictorial 
embellishment;  the  work  of  etching  on  copper,  as  well  as  the  designs,  being 
exclusively  his  handicraft.  And,  of  a  verity,  since  the  day  when  the  youthful 
genius  of  Hans  Holbein  decorated  with  woodcuts  the  "Praise  of  Folly,"  by 
Desiderius  Erasmus,  never  has  an  experimental  operation  been  so  successfully 
performed.  Truly  hath  our  Alfred,  already  distinguished  in  the  very  highest 
departments  of  professional  excellence,  revealed  himself  to  the  gaze  of  men  in 
a  new  and  unexpected  character;  and  while  future  ages  will  stand  enraptured 
before  the  canvas  over  which  he  has  flung,  with  that  profusion  so  characteristic 
of  opulent  genius,  the  creations  of  his  exuberant  fancy,  a  voice  will  add  that 
his  was — 

"The  pencil  of  light 
That  illumined  the  volume." 

To  these  gems  of  art  we  would  gladly  advert  seriatim,  but  knowing  how 
fully  attractive  they  will  prove  by  the  bare  indication  of  the  name  of  Croquis, 
and  mindful  of  the  proverbial  recommendation  to  the  priest  to  christen  his  own 
child  first,  we  would  say  a  few  words  in  our  editorial  capacity  of  the  essays 
themselves,  i.e. 

"  For  us  and  for  our  tragedie." 

When  Voltaire,  at  Potsdam,  or  Sans  Souci,  was  employed  by  Frederick  in 
overlooking  and  arranging  for  the  press  the  poetical  effusions  of  his  royal 
patron,  he  is  known  to  have  described  his  avocation  in  very  vulgar  terms,  to 
wit,  "  ye  lave  le  lingc  sale  de  sa  majesU."  Far  be  it  from  us  to  depict  in  any 
such  contemptuous  and  disparaging  language  the  nature  of  our  functions  in 
connection  with  the  Father  and  his  chest  of  MSS.  On  the  contrarj^  the  task  of 
overhauling  these  miscellaneous  sheets  has  been  to  us  hitherto,  and  is  likely 
long  to  continue,  a  labour  of  love.  But  we  have  another  meanmg  in  our  eye. 
There  is  a  certain  supplementary  process  which  these  compositions  are  probably 
doomed  to  undergo  on  issuing  from  our  hands — in  fact,  there  are  such  people 
as  reviewers,  Regionani  di  lor. 

This  class  of  operatives  in  literature  have  been  called  by  Bob  Southey,  in  his 
"  Life  and  Remains  of  Kirke  White,"  "  the  ungentle  craft," — a  term  which  the 
Laureate  had  at  the  time  sundry  sound  reasons  for  applying.  Maturer 
reflection  has,  no  doubt,  confirmed  him  in  the  wisdom  of  the  phrase  ;  notwith- 
standing that,  since  then,  he  has  continued  to  take  a  notable  part  himself  in 
their  quarterly  labours.  We  will  probably  be  thought  guilty  of  great  foolhardi- 
ness  in  giving  utterance  to  what  we  are  about  to  say,  but  we  can' t  help  finding  the 
figurative  language  of  Voltaire  wonderfully  expressive  of  these  gentlemen's 
detersive  functions  :  nor  can  we  choose  but  consider  their  employment  as  curi- 
ously similar  to  that  in  which  Ulysses  found  Princess  Xausicaa  engaged  on  the 
sea-shore  of  Phseacia — 

Tai  0'  aTT,  aVtjyjj? 
Efjuara  yz^aiv  VKovto  kul  iacpopiov  ME  A  AN  YAQP. 

Odyss.  1.  90. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  be  very  conversant  with  the  current  business  of  the 
learned  repubhc  to  be  aware  of  the  tremendous  quantity  of  author's  soiled 
linen  that  lies  accumulated  in  this  fashion  awaiting  the  labours  of  the  craft , 
and,  notwithstanding  that  a  vast  increase  has  lately  been  visible  in  the  number 
of  establishments  where  "washing  is  taken  in"  and  "  mangling  performed  " 
and  "gentlemen  done  for,"  it  is  found  quite  impossible  to  keep  pace  with  the 
influx  of  business.  Could  not  some  plan  be  devised  for  alleviatmg  the  drudgery 
of  these  hard-working  and  meritorious  individuals? 


370 


The  Woi'ks  of  Father  Proiit. 


This  has  been  in  the  present  article  the  object  of  our  ambition.  Towards 
so  desirable  an  end,  and  to  ease  them  of  their  toil,  would  it  not  be 
advisable  for  every  author,  like  us,  to  review  and  puff  his  own  book, 
impelled  by  the  same  philanthropy  that  induces  the  member  for  the 
(,'ounty  Tipperary  to  act  as  his  own  reporter.  Bulwer,  to  do  him  justice,  set  a 
forcible  example  in  this  respect  during  his  brilliant  but,  alas  !  too  brief 
management  of  the  New  Monthly.  But  here,  as  indeed  in  other  matters,  the 
"Student"  did  not,  properly  speaking,  originate  the  idea  on  which  he  so 
skilfully  improved  ;  the  theory  had  been  previously  taught  by  Brougham  in 
one  of  his  useful  knowledge  publications,  entitled  "  Every  Alan  his  own  Washer- 
woman." 

It  would  be  a  want  of  sincerity  on  our  part  were  we  not  to  add,  that  another 
motive,  besides  our  professed  anxiety  to  lighten  the  labours  of  a  toil-worn 
fraternity,  hath  impelled  us  to  draw  up  this  "critical  notice"  ourselves.  Those 
who  know  us  need  not  be  told  how  devoutly  we  venerate  the  writings  of  the 
great  defunct,  and  with  what  deferential  awe  we  are  accustomed  to  approach 
these  emanations  of  sacerdotal  authorship.  Looking  at  these  volumes  in  a 
peculiar  light — esteeming  them,  in  fact,  as  a  sort  of 

"  Lapsa  ancilla  coelo," 

we  cannot  entertain  without  abhorrence  the  idea  of  their  being  handled  by  the 
uninitiated  and  the  profane.  To  obviate  such  rude  manipulation,  we  would 
claim  for  Prout  the  old  "  benefit  of  clergy,"  not  in  the  vulgar  sense  of  mere  safety 
from  the  gallows  which  a  knowledge  of  reading  was  supposed  to  guarantee 
among  our  ancestors,  but  as  implying  the  broad  principle  of  clerical  exemp- 
tion from  all  secular  tribunals,  for  which  the  martyred  Thomas  a  Beckett  so 
strenuously  combated.  Good  reason  had  all  true  clerks  to  make  a  pilgrimage 
to  Canterbury  !  By  the  old  law  of  the  land — per  hgein  terra.,  as  Chandos  has  it — 
ecclesiastical  delinquents  were  not  amenable  to  the  common  authorities  ;  and  no 
mere  layman  could  sit  in  judgment  on  Front's  literary  preparations.  Every 
man  of  old  was  tried  by  his  peers.  Were  the  rule  to  obtain  at  the  present 
day,  where  could  a  reviewer  be  found  for  our  author? 

"  Quando  ullum  invenient  parem." 

Ode  x.\iv.  lib.  i. 

When  we  emblazoned  the  word  Reliques  on  the  title-page,  we  sufficiently 
indicated  our  views  as  to  the  mood  of  mind  with  which  all  true  votaries,  accord- 
ing to  us,  should  visit  the  shrine.  To  scrutinize  with  cold,  anatomic  eye  the 
vertebras,  tibia,  ribs  and  os  coccygis  of  the  late  pastor  of  Watergrasshill, 
were,  to  our  fancy,  a  quasi  desecration  of  canonized  bones.  And  it  is  fair  to 
presume  that  we  have  rightly  interpreted  his  wishes  in  this  respect,  when  we 
inscribed  under  the  graphic  vignette  of  Croquis  (vol.  i.  p.  46)  the  significant 
phrase  Pace  implok.v.  * 

A  peculiar  sensitiveness  (technically  called  criticophobia)  has  possessed  the 
mind  of  every  great  author  of  whose  mental  state  we  may  be  said  to  possess  any 
pathological  details ;  and  all  have  experienced  a  vivid  horror  of  the  strange 
liberties  which  folks  were  likely  to  take  with  their  writings.  Homer,  in  the 
opening  scenes  of  the  "Iliad,"  while  ostensibly  dwelling  on  the  post-mortem 
liability  of  his  heroes — 

OloyvoLGL  Ttiraai — 

is  supposed  by  a  German  scholiast  to  denote  the  doom  he  bitterly  anticipates 
for  his  own  poem,  denouncing,  under  the  veil  of  allegory,  the  "dogs"  and 
"vultures"  of  criticism.  Many  other  matters  were  foreseen  by  blind  Mceo- 
nides,  who,  like  Rabelais,  had  a  fashion  of  wrapping  up  his  wisdom  in  the 
recondite  folds  of  apparent  triviality. 


FatJicr  Proiifs  Self- Examination,  371 

It  is,  at  the  very  least,  equally  obvious  that  Shakespeare  entertained  similar 
apprehensions  of  the  treatment  that  awaited  him,  if  we  may  judge  from  his 
paihetic  appeal,  deprecator}'  beforehand,  of  such  unholy  doings  :  — 

"  Kind  friend,  for  Jesu's  sake,  forbear,"  etc.,  etc., 

an  adjuration,  in  our  opinion,  by  far  too  emphatic  and  impassioned  to  be  only 
iiuenaed  as  a  caution  to  the  parish  grave-digger.  An  admonition  so  solemnly 
conveyed  could  not,  of  course,  be  meant  for  so  low  a  functionary.  Hence 
ue  niiiy  safely  infer,  that  while  apparently  soliciung  the  forbearance  of  the 
Ee-.toii,  lie  tiguratively  sought  to  warn  off  the  pickaxe  of  the  annotator  ;  eluci- 
daiive  coiiinientary  on  his  writings,  doubiless,  seemed  a  more  formidable  bore 
tuaii  tliat  wiiijli  could  but  perforate  his  cotfin. 

It  was  U'jt  lor  his  "bones,"  but  for  his  works,  that  he  would  have  felt  a 
quaim  m  ih:s  Christian  country.  His  dreams  were  haunted  by  a  vision  of 
mangled  tragedies — 

'■  Que  des  chiens  devorans  se  disputaient  entr'eux." 

A  thalie. 

Vv'e  grieve  for  Homer — we  are  filled  with  commiseration  for  the  woes  of 
.Shakespeare ;  but  Prout  possesses  naturally  enough  the  core  of  otir  sympathies. 
'1  he  fact  is,  we  happen  to  have  some  knowledge  of  "  the  ungentle  "  practitioners 
into  whose  hands  he  is  likely  to  fall,  and  hence  ariseth  our  concern  for  the  good 
old  geiitleman.  In  the  "  Acta  Sincera  Martyrum,"  by  that  laborious  Benedic- 
tine, Don  Ruinart,  a  book  to  us  of  fond  and  frequent  perusal,  ue  have  often 
shuddered  at  one  particular  formula,  of  constant  recurrence  under  the  truculent 
Diocletian ;  but  we  now  feel  inclined  to  transfer  to  Prout  the  feelings  with 
which  we  used  to  read  Damxatus  ad  Bestias  affixed  to  the  name  of  some 
primitive  Christian. 

\et  of  what  avail  is  the  expression  of  our  misgivings?  Can  Regixa  shield 
him  from  the  onslaught  or  blunt  the  mandibulce  of  a  single  critic  ?  We  fear 
not.     She  is  no  sorceress  ;  nor  is  it  without  reason  that  Horace  records 

"  Ossa  ab  ore  rapta  jejuni  canis  "  '^Epod.') 

among  the  exploits  of  Canidia. 

There  is,  however,  one  crumb  of  comfort  : — the  process  of  gnawing  these 
reliques,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  must  be  speedily  interrupted  by  the 
substitution  of  more  attractive  and  succulent  matter. 

Such  is  the  rapid  succession  of  living  candidates  for  critical  dissection,  that 
these  tough  remains  will  be  quickly  superseded.  American  Willis  may  happily 
publish  afresh  "  book,"  or  Bob  Montgomery  a  new  "poem,"  to  the  inexpres- 
sible delight  of  the  reviewers.  Some  such  tit-bits  are  such  to  be  fottnd  floating 
on  the  mare  inagnitm  of  publication  :  — 

"  At  length  they  caught  two  boobies  and  a  noddy, 
And  then  they  left  off  eating  the  dead  body. " 

Not  that  we  would  institute  a  parallel  between  our  author  and  him  who  "left 
the  cloisters  of  the  classic  Salamanca,"  as  travelling  tutor  to  the  incorrigible 
Juan  ;  there  was  nothing  in  common  between  Prout  and  the  licentiate  Pedrillo, 
save,  perhaps,  the  penchant  for  polyglot  erudition  (Juan,  ii.  25),  a  remarkable 
trait  in  the  character  of  both  these  distinguished  churchmen. 

A  priest's  book,  in  sober  earnest,  is  a  sort  of  rarity,  as  times  go  ;  for  the 
sic  raro  scribis,  so  totally  inapplicable  to  every  other  rank,  trade,  class,  or  pro- 
fession in  this  conntrv,  can  onlv  be  with  truth' addressed  to  the  Romish  clergy. 
\'-v  liy  they  should  thus  studiously  abstain  from  taking  part  in  the  current 
literature  of  the  day  we  are  not  iii  a  position  to  explain ;  but  the  fact  is  as  we 
state  it.     When  we  speak  of  literature,  we  do  not  of  course  mean  to  recognize 


as  such  Pastorini's  "  Prophecies  ;"  neither  can  we  admit  the  claim  of  Dens' 
"  Coniplete  Body  of  Theology,"  which  we  charitably  presume  was  never  meant 
by  its  worthy  author  to  be  read  beyond  the  circle  of  his  ecclesiastical  brethren, 
but  a  book  on  topics  extra  professional,  a  volume  on  matters  of  general  accept- 
ance, not  confined  to  the  politician  or  the  religionist — 

"  Sed  quae  legal  ipsa  Lychoris  " — 

such  a  volume  penned  by  a  priest  is  not  a  thing  of  every-day  occurrence. 

The  "  Classical  Tour "  of  the  late  Rev.  Chetwinde  Eustace,  the  historical 
labours  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Lingard,  a  quarto  on  the  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages 
by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Berrington,  Alban  Butler's  "  Lives  of  the  Saints,"  a  work  of 
immense  research,  concerning  which  we  need  only  quote  Gibbon's  significant 
and  characteristic  remark — "  the  learning  was  his  o'uj?i,  the  faults  those  of  his 
subject,"  these,  with  the  "  Scriptores  rerum  Hiberni  curum,"  edited  at  Stowe  by 
tiie  Rev.  Charles  O'Connor  of  Ballanagar,  form  the  only  contributions  fiom 
that  quarter  to  the  common  fund  of  British  belles  lettres.  We  know  none  else 
of  late  years — we  had  almost  said  since  the  Reformation. 

But  here  we  stand  rebuked  by  Sam  Hall,  the  discriminating  editor  of  the 
"  Book  of  Gems."  In  that  exquisite  selection  from  the  early  poets  of  Great 
Britain,  the  intelligent  gem  nosophist,  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  choice 
and  arrangement  of  the  dazzling  bijouterie,  has  introduced  some  specimens 
from  the  works  of  a  bygone  Jesuit,  whom,  in  defiance  of  national  and  perhaps 
reasonable  antipathies,  he  nevertheless  delights  to  honour.  We  allude  to  the 
poems  of  Southwell,  which  Sam  has  hauled  up  from  the  "well  of  English 
undefiled,"  where  they  lay,  like  Truth,  long  awaiting  the  assistance  of  a  friendly 
bucket.  Were  Front  alive  he  would  not  fail  to  express  his  gratitude  to  the 
compiler  for  the  following  :  — 

"  Robert  Southwell,  bom  in  the  year  1560,  at  St.  Faith's,  in  Norfolk,  received 
his  early  education  at  Douay;  and  at  sixteen,  while  residing  at  Rome,  was  re- 
ceived into  the  'Society'  in  1584;  he  returned  as  a  missionary'  priest  to  his 
native  country,  but  appears  to  have  been  disheartened  by  the  vain  issue  of  his 
attempts  to  stay  the  progress  of  the  Reformation,  '  living  like  a  foreigner,  finding 
among  strangers  that  which  among  his  nearest  blood  he  presumed  not  to  seek.' 
In  England,  notwithstanding,  he  continued  to  reside,  labouring,  and  with 
sincerity  until  the  year  1592,  when  he  was  arrested  on  a  charge  of  sedition 
and  committed  to  a  dungeon  in  the  Tower,  so  noisome  and  filthy,  that  his 
father  was  induced,  successfully,  to  petition  Elizabeth,  that  his  son,  being  a 
gentleman,  might  be  treated  as  such.  He  continued  three  years  in  prison,  and, 
it  is  said,  was  ten  several  times  put  to  the  rack.  At  length,  death  appearing 
more  easy  and  welcome  than  such  continued  torture,  he  applied  to  the  Lord 
Treasurer  Cecil  that  he  might  be  brought  to  trial.  The  brutal  answer  of  the 
I^rd  Treasurer  is  recorded,  '  If  he  was  in  such  haste  to  be  hanged,  he  should 
quickly  have  his  desire." 

"  On  the  5th  of  February,  1595,  he  was  tried  at  Westminster  on  a  charge  of 
high  treason,  in  that  he,  being  a  Popish  priest,  born  in  the  dominion  of  the 
Crown  of  England,  had  come  over  thither  from  beyond  seas,  and  had  tarried 
there  longer  than  three  days  without  conforming  and  taking  the  oaths.  He 
was  found  guilty  on  his  own  confession,  and  was  executed  at  Tyburn  according 
to  the  horrible  practice  of  the  age,  adding  one  to  the  long  list  of  victims 
sacrificed  to  the  inveterate  and  unchristian  spirit  which  characterized  the  times." 

That  Southwell  had  a  genius  of  a  very  high  order  is  undeniable — genius 
worthy  of  the  high  and  ennobling  themes  of  which  he  wrote — and  in  the 
treatment  of  which  he  is  seldom  or  ever  uncharitable.  They  consist  of  "St. 
Peters  Complainte,  and  St.  Magdalene's  Funerall  Teares,  with  sundry  other 
selected  and  devout  Foeraes  ;  "  "  Mjconice  ;  or,  certain  excellent  Foemes  and 


FatJier  Proiifs  Sclf-Exaviinatioii.  373 


Spiritual  Hymnes  ,  "  "The  Triumph  over  Death  ;  or,  a  consolatory  Epistle  for 
afflicted  Mindes  on  the  affects  of  dying  friends,  first  written  for  the  consolation 
of  one,  but  now  published  for  the  good  of  all." 

It  is  remarkable,  observes  Mr.  Ellis,  that  the  few  copies  of  his  works  that 
now  exist  are  the  remnants  of  twenty-four  different  editions,  of  which  eleven 
were  printed  between  1593  and  1600.  They  must,  therefore,  have  obtained 
considerable  celebrity,  though  now  but  little  known. 

Sam  Hall,  from  whose  copious  and  tasteful  industry  we  derive  the  knowledge 
of  a  Jesuit' s  claim  to  rank  on  the  national  Parnassus,  illustrates  his  discovery 
by  some  delightful  extracts,  for  which  we  refer  with  confidence  to  his  "  Book  of 
Gems."  *'  Per  Gefnini /"  (as  was  eloquently  said  by  Ugo  Foscolo  in  his 
sonnet  to  the  author  of  Rimini),  we  do  approve.  Hall,  of  thy  judicious 
-undertaking,  and  exhort  thee  to  persevere  therein,  to  the  gratifica'tion  of  the 
public  and  thy  own  peculiar  privilege  of  treasure  trove.  I'hou  wilt  assuredly 
find  a  literary  Golconda  in  the  neglected  sterquilinium  of  old  English  author- 
ship— 

"  Enni  de  stereo  re  gemmas  ;  " 

such  employment  offering,  in  sooth,  a  far  more  lucrative  prospect  than  w^hat 
is  called  "original  writing,"  which  is  much  like  "gathering  samphire" — a 
"  dreadful  trade." 

We  know  not  if  we  must  ascribe  to  the  tragic  end  of  this  tuneful  son  of 
Loyola  the  fact  of  none  of  his  brethren  having  since  then  made  any  attempt  to 
emulate  his  hterary  achievements ;  for  it  is  a  curious  anomaly,  that  while  the 
men  of  his  order  throughout  the  rest  of  Europe  freely  contributed  to  every 
department  of  art,  science,  and  literature,  the  name  of  the  Jesuit  Southwell 
should  appear  alone  as  a  writer  on  the  muster-roll  of  British  celebrity. 

The  wisdom  of  the  usually  sagacious  Lord  Burleigh  does  not  shine  in  this 
transaction.  His  "  war  to  the  knife  "  against  the  emissaries  of  the  Vatican  was, 
no  doubt,  sound  policy,  and  the  security  of  the  Queen's  government  required 
strong  measures;  but  Cecil  should  have  known  that  fondness  for  elegant  lore 
with  a  cultivated  taste  was  a  sufficient  guarantee  in  its  possessor  against 
treachery  and  sedition.  It  is  not  from  rightly  disciplined  minds  that  the  well- 
being  of  society  has  anything  to  dread.  A  kindly  and  peaceable  disposition  is 
the  result  and  the  index  of  intellectual  refinement ;  nor  is  it  without  reason  that 
the  belles  lettres  have  been  termed,  from  their  obvious  and  natural  tendency, 
Litttrce  Humaniores.  Turbulence  and  treason  most  go  hand  in  hand  with 
ignorance  and  fanaticism ;  and  it  must  be  a  very  illiterate  priesthood  in  the 
ranks  of  which  a  conspirator  will  find  his  confederates,  or  a  demagogue  his 
tools.  We  do  not,  therefore,  approve  of  the  mandate  that  handed  Southwell 
over  to  the  functionary  at  Tyburn.  To  be  sure,  it  was  wrong  to  deny  the 
Queen's  supremacy  ;  it  was  also  \s  rong  in  Orpheus  of  old  to  deny  the  sovereign 
empire  of  the  sex ;  but,  for  the  honour  of  poetry,  we  are  far  from  sanctioning 
the  proceedings  either  of  Cecil  or — 

"  Of  that  wild  rout  that  tore  the  Thracian  bard 
In  Rhodope,  where  woods  and  rocks  had  ears 
For  rapture,  till  the  savage  clamour  drown'd 
Both  harp  and  voice  I  nor  could  the  Muse  defend  her  boy." 

Religious  rancour,  the  plague  of  all  social  intercourse,  will  rarely  be  found  to 
co-exist  with  a  relish  for  those  studies,  or  a  predilection  for  those  "ingenuous 
arts,"  to  cultivate  which  with  fidelity  has  ever  been  deemed  the  surest  recipe 
for  taming  the  ferocity  of  individual  as  well  as  national  manners.  Many 
theories  have  been  broached  for  the  tranquillization  of  the  sister  countn,';  but 
concerning  Ireland  "  we  have  a  vision  of  our  own  ;  "  nor  do  we  deem  it  a  whit 
less  substantial  than  other  visionary  systems.  Tom  Moore,  expatiating  some- 
where on  the  supposed  juxtaposition  of  a  tear  and  a  smile  in  Erin's  eye,  talks 


374  ^-^^  Works  of  Father  Prout. 

incidentally  of  the  rainbow,  and  finds  therein  a  symbol  of  peace  and  concord. 
There  are,  undoubtedly,  many  points  of  resemblance  between  a  black  eye  and 
the  prismatic  colours  :  neither  do  we  deny  that  the  a^-c  en  cicl  suggests  the 
idea  of  conciliation — the  thought  is  as  old  as  the  flood ;  but  we  rather  fear 
that  it  were  vain  to  count  on  the  blissful  consummation  devoutly  sighed  for  by 
the  melodist — vain  to  hope  that  the  green  island  will  become  an  Arcadia  until 
the  TToiM^yas  Xaoiv  acquire  other  habits  and  gentler  natures  :  until  the  ' '  humani- 
ties "  obtain  a  portion  of  that  leisure  time  that  is  devoted  to  electioneering, 
and  some  fountain  of  Hippocrene  be  discovered  that  may  supersede  the 
"  Devil's  Punchbowl"  in  Kerry. 

We  speak  thus  in  the  sincerity  of  our  souls,  having  nothing  but  the  general 
welfare  at  heart,  and  unaffectedly  anxious  to  promote  universal  cordiality.  •  A 
great  poet  has  said  that  he — 

"  Wish'd  well  to  Trojan  and  to  Tyrian, 

Having  been  bred  a  moderate  Presbyterian." 

We  should  hope  that  our  aspirations  for  the  happiness  of  our  fellow-subjects 
are  not  the  less  vivid  and  comprehensive.  We  are  far  from  despairing  of  im- 
provement and  amelioration  in  the  quarter  alluded  to,  for  we  see  no  reason 
why  what  has  been  may  not  be  again.  "  The  Papacy  during  the  Middle  Ages 
v/as  nothing  but  a  confederacy  of  the  learned  men  of  the  west  of  Europe 
against  the  barbarism  and  ignorance  of  the  time.  The  Pope  was  the  head  of 
this  confederacy.""  We  would  respectfully  submit  the  case  of  Ireland  as  a 
"  casus  fcederis  "  to  his  Holiness. 

Of  a  truth,  could  we  fancy  Prout  debarred  from  the  resources  afforded  by 
his  favourite  pursuits,  we  should  feel  at  a  loss  how  to  comprehend  the  possi- 
bility of  his  existence  during  so  long  a  period  on  the  summit  of  his  parochial 
Pisgah  ;  the  prospect  before  him  must  have  been  as  dreary  as  the  "  long  hollow 
valley  of  Bagdad"  in  the  "Vision  of  Mirza."  Without  the  converse  of  the 
Muses,  we  can  scarcely  imagine  how  the  stillness  of  domestic  solitude  could  be 
made  endurable  at  Watergrasshill. 

"  i\Iartiis  coelebs  quid  agam  calendis." 

Hor.  lib.  3. 

Such  must  have  been  the  sad  self-interrogatory,  not  merely  on  the  recurrence 
of  this  present  ist  of  March,  but  throughout  the  whole  calendar.  It  was  haply 
otherwise  with  the  Father.  Endowed  with  scholarly  propensities,  the  wilderness 
for  him  teemed  with  populous  thoughts — antiquity  ever  present  to  his  medita- 
tions, and  erudition  still  inviting  "  to  see  her  stones  unrolled."  His  childless 
and  lonely  position  singularly  favoured  such  habits  and  appliances ;  nor  can 
we  deny  that  he  was  much  more  advantageously  circumstanced  for  the  pursuits 
of  learning  than  were  he  beset  with  such  troubles  as  befell  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field. Among  the  many  curious  passages  that  occur  in  the  correspondence 
of  Abelard  with  her  who  became  prioress  of  Paraclete,  we  are  favoured  with 
the  lady's  opinion  as  to  the  total  inexpediency  of  a  family  establishment  for  a 
man  of  letters,  and  the  utter  incompatibility  of  conjugal  avocations  with  those 
of  learning.  Heloise's  Latinity  (which,  by  the  way,  is  throughout  far  purer  than 
that  of  her  quondam  lover)  expresses  the  sentiment  with  such  graphic  energy, 
that  an  English  translation  would  much  impair  the  force  of  her  observations  ; 
we  therefore  leave  them  in  their  original  vigour  :—  "  Quissacris  vel  philosophicis 
meditationibus  intentus,  pueriles  vagitus,  nutricum  quae  hos  mitigant  na^nias 
tumultuosam  familice  turbam  sustinere  poterit?  Quis  etiam  inhonestas  ilia 
p.\RVL'LORU.M  SORDKS  assidui  tolerare  valeat."  f 

Prout's  life  at  Watergrasshill  appears  to  have  thus  been  one  of  leisure.     By 

*  Coleridge's  "  Table  Talk,"  vol.  i.,  p.  163.     London  :  Murray. 
+  "  Opera  Abelard,"  p.  14. 


Father  Proufs  Self -Examination. 


373 


the  philosophic  seclusion  of  his  old  age,  he  fittingly  wound  up  the  adventurous 
period  of  his  rambles  over  the  Continent.  After  such  a  fluctuating  existence 
final  repose  was  natural  and  desirable ;  no  matter  where  Xoah's  ark  rested  on 
\ne  top  of  Ararat,  Front's  chest  was  on  as  bleak  a  mountain.  A  halo  of  glory 
will,  however,  encircle  the  hill : 

"  Qui  nunc  misenus  ab  illo 
Dicitur  setemumque  tenet  per  saecula  nomen  " 

{^■Eneid,  si.  234); — 

or,  to  quote  from  Pindar  (the  general  tenor  of  this  article  being  Pindaric  in  the 
extreme), 

AiyovTai  /xiav  (SpoTuiu 

'OXjBoV   VTTipTU   TOV  OL 

\£iu — OLTE  Kai  "x^pvaixaTTv^oiV 
l\l£.\Troij.i.vdv  iv  upat 

A'iov.  PyTH,  r.  £7ra)C.     c. 

A  biographical  account  of  his  earlier  histor}'  is  yet  a  desideratum ;  but  of  his 
later  years,  the  affection  of  his  parishioners  and  the  contents  of  his  chest  are 
the  intelligible  records.  We  know  not  whether  he  has  any  chance  of  the 
honours  oi  cano?2ization,  ior  \\&\\?L\-e.  not  read  Lambertini's  (Benedict  XIV.) 
quarto  book  "  De  Beatificatione  SS."  in  which  the  qualifications  are  set  forth. 
But  if  we  be  not  authorized  (imtil  he  obtain  brevet  rank  in  the  calendar)  to  say 
of  him-  in  positive  terms, 

"  Candidus  instietum  miratur  limen  Olymi>i" 

we  may  at  least  confidently  assert  that,  as  far  as  human  testimony  can  go, 

"He  had  kept 
The  whiteness  of  his  soul,  and  thus  men  o'er  him  wept." 

Ch.  Har.  iii.  57. 

In   corroboration  of   which,    we    have   been   informed    by   Croquis   (who, 
previous  to  illustrating  his  works,  paid  a  visit  to  the  hill)  that  the  lap  of  earth  in 
which  he  is  laid  has  produced  a  most  luxuriant  crop  of  shamrocks  — a  circum- 
stance the  more  remarkable,  in  our  opinion,  as  from  the  Father's  known  anti- 
pathy to  quacks,  he  cannot  have  been  much  addicted  to  the  use  of  Morrison's 
Vegetable  Pills.     But  what  is  conclusive  of  the  miraculous  nature  of  this  ver- 
dure is,   that  it  offers  abundant  specimens  of  that  genuine  Irish  plant,    the 
quadrifoliatcd  trifolium,  or  "  four-leaved  shamrock,"  concerning  the  properties 
of  which  we   need   only  refer   to  Lover's   dehghtful  song.      The  peasantry,     : 
according  to  Alfred's  account,  deem  the  herbs  to  possess  sundry  Hygicstic  vir-     ' 
tues;   some  wearing  them  all  round  their  hat — as  a  specific  for  the  ague — others    , 
preferring  to  take  therr* inwardly,  as  an  antiphlogistic,  in  a  glass  of  whisky. 
All  that  we  can  say  is,  that  the  transmission  of  the  Father's  spirit  into  these 
shamrocks  is  not  without  parallel  in  the  legendary  pages  of  the  dyioypucpoi.    \ 
and  as  for  a  classical  precedent,  we  need  only  refer  to  the  account  of  Polidorus, 
and  the  shrubs  that  grev,-  up  from  the  turf  that  wrapped  /lis  clay,  as  set  forth  in 
the  third  book  of  the  "^neid,"  v.  45. 

One  thing  is,  however,  certain— that  he  despised  the  frivolities  of  the  world,  , 
and  in  the  retirement  of  his  solitude  bestowed  a  proper  degree  of  attention  on  ' 
the  cares  of  futurity.  From  sundry  passages  in  the  translation  of  Vida's  j 
"  Silkworm"  it  is  e\ident  that  he  had'  understood  well  the  nature  of  this  tran-    ( 

] 


376 


The   Works  of  Father  Front 


sitory  existence — that,  with  old  Dante,  he  was  fully  convinced  of  it  being  only 
a  state  of  grub-like  lowliness  preparatory  to  a  brilliant  iraXiyyivKria. 

"  Noi  siam  vemi 
Nati  per  formar  I'angelica  furfalla." 

Hence  his  views  were  fixed  on  loftier  objects  than  the  pursuits  of  ordinary 
men  ;  his  musings  were  those  of  a  priest,  priestly.  In  his  intercourse  with  the 
nine  sisters,  he  taught  them  not  to  imitate  the  foolish  virgins  in  the  Gospel,  who 
neglected  to  put  oil  in  their  lamps  ;  and  the  waters  of  Siloa's  brook  mingled  in 
his  cup  with  those  of  the  classic  Aganippe.  To  be  known  to  mankind  as  a 
writer  or  a  savarit  was  the  least  of  his  aspirations;  for  he  had  evidently  medi- 
tated on  a  passage  of  Seneca  which  he  has  traced  on  sundry  fly-leaves  in  the 
chest,  and  which  is  so  like  a  sentence  from  the  Epistles,  that  it  must  have  been 
penned  by  Xero's  tutor  after  one  of  his  many  interviews  with  St.  Paul  — 

"  Illi  mors  gravis  ixcl-rat 
Qui  notus  Nimis  omnibus 

IgNOTUS  MORITUR  SIBI." 


Sex.,  Traged.  of  Thysa. 


\77 


XXI. 

[Fraser s  Magazine,  July,  1836.) 


[Croquis'  contribution  to  the  number  of  Regina  containing  this  first  of  the  five 
decades  of  the  Songs  of  Horace  done  into  English  by  Prout,  was  his  smooth-faced, 
boyish-looking  effigy  of  Mr.  Serjeant  Talfourd,  standing,  evidently  by  a  dessert-table, 
leaning  his  hand  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  either  proposing  a  toast  or  returning  thanks. 
With  good  reason  has  the  preference  been  given,  with  one  accord,  among  all  Mahony's 
Horatian  translations,  to  his  incomparable  version,  "  See  how  the  Wmter  Blanches,"  of 
the  _"  Vides  ut  alta  stet  nive  candidum."  In  it  not  only  the  words  but  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  underlying  them  have  been  caught  and  echoed  back  in  another  tongue  to  a  very 
miracle.] 


Decade  the  First. 

ANQ  TQN  nOTAMQN  lEPQN  XQP0Y2I  nATAI. 

EuRiPiD.,  Medea. 
"  Quis  sub  ARCTO 
Re.x  gelidae  metuatur  orae 
Quid  Terridatem  terreat  unice 
Securus  est  qui  fontibcs  integris 
Gaudet." 

Lib.  i.  ode  xxvi. 

Deeming  it  wasteful  and  ridiculous 
To  watch  Don  Carlos  or  Czar  Nicholas — 
Sick  of  our  statesmen  idiotic  — 
SicTc  of  the  knaves  who  (patriotic) 
Serve  up  to  clowns,  in  want  oi  praties, 
"Repale"  and  "broken  Limerick  traties," 
With  whom  to  grudge  their  poor  a  crust  is. 
To  starving  Ireland  "  doing  justice" — 
Sick  of  the  moonshine  called  "  immicipal," 
Blarney  and  Rice,  Spain  and  INIendizabal, 
Shiel  and  shilelahs,  "  Dan"  and  "Maurice," 
Prout  turns  his  thoughts  to  Rome  and  Horace. 

O.  V. 

Chassons  loin  de  chez  nous  tons  ces  rats  du  Pamasse, 
Jouissons,  ecrlvons,  vivons  avec  Horace." 

Volt.,  Ep'itrc:. 
From  the  ignoble  doings  of  modem  Whiggery,  sneaking  and  dastardly  in  its 
proceedings  at  home,  and  not  very  dignified  in  its  dealings  abroad— from  Mel- 
bourne, who  has  flung  such  unwonted  eclat  round  the  premiership  of  Great 
Britain  [addens  cornua  pauperi),  and  Mulgrave,  who  has  made  vulgarity  and 
^  I' 


ruffianism  the  supporters  of  a  vice-regal  chair  [Rc_^is  Rupili  pusatqueveneiium), 
it  is  allowable  to  turn  aside  for  a  transient  glimpse  at  the  Augustan  age,  when 
the  premier  was  Mecaenas,  and  the  proconsul,  Agrippa.  The  poetic  sense, 
nauseated  with  rank  and  ribald  effusions,  such  as  Lord  Russell's  pension  can 
elicit  from  Lord  Lansdowne's  family-piper,  finds  relief  in  communing  with 
Horace,  the  refined  and  gentlemanly  Laureate  of  Roman  Toryism.  In  his 
abliorrence  of  the  "profane  Radical  mob"  (lib.  iii.  ode  i.)  — in  his  commenda- 
tion of  virtue,  "  refulgent  with  uncontaminated  honour,  because  derived  from 
a  steady  refusal  to  take  up  or  lay  down  the  emblems  of  authority  at  popular 
dictation"  (lib.  iii.  ode  ii. ) — in  his  portraiture  of  the  Just  Man,  undismayed 
by  the  frenzied  ardour  of  those  who  would  force  on  by  clamour  depraved  mea- 
sures (lib.  iii.  ode  iii.) — need  we  say  how  warmly  we  participate?  That  the 
wits  and  sages  who  shed  a  lustre  on  that  imperial  court  should  have  ended  by 
becoming  thorough  Conservatives,  and  have  merged  all  their  previous  theories 
in  a  rooted  horror  of  agitators  and  sans-culottcs,  was  a  natural  result  of  the 
intellectual  progress  made  since  the  unlettered  epoch  of  Marius  and  the  Gracchi. 
In  the  bard  of  Tivoli,  who  had  fought  under  the  insurrectionary  banners  of 
Brutus,  up  to  the  day  when  "the  chins  of  the  unshaven  demagogues  were 
brought  to  a  level  with  the  dust"  (lib.  ii.  ode  vii.),  Tory  principles  obtained  a 
distinguished  convert ;  nor  is  there  any  trace  of  mere  subserviency  to  the  men 
in  power,  or  any  evidence  of  insincerity,  in  the  record  of  his  political  opinions. 
He  seems  to  have  entertained  a  heartfelt  bon>\  fide  detestation  of  your  "  men  of 
the  people,"  and  a  sound  conviction  that  there  exist  not  greater  foes  to  the  com- 
mon weal,  or  greater  pests  to  society. 

The  Georgian  era  has,  in  common  with  the  age  of  Augustus,  exhibited  more 
tlian  one  striking  example  of  salutary  resipiscence  among  those  who  started  in 
hfe  with  erroneous  principles.  Two  eminent  instances  just  now  occur  to  us  : 
Southey  among  the  poets,  Burke  among  the  illustrious  in  prose ;  though,  per- 
haps, the  divine  gift  of  inspiration,  accompanied  with  true  poetic  feeling,  was 
more  largely  vouchsafed  to  the  antagonist  of  the  French  Revolution  than  to  the 
author  of  "Roderick,  the  Last  of  the  Goths."  What  can  be  more  opposite  to  the 
train  of  thought  in  which  we  are  indulging,  and  to  the  actual  posture  of  affairs, 
than  the  following  exquisitely  conceived  passage,  in  which  the  sage  of  Beacons- 
field  contrasts  the  respective  demeanour  and  resources  of  the  two  parties  into 
which  public  opmion  is  divided? — 

"  When  I  assert  anything  concerning  the  people  of  England,  I  speak  frorn  observation, 
and  from  the  experience  I  have  had  in  a  pretty  extensive  communication  with  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  kingdom,  begun  in  early  life,  and  continued  for  near  forty  years.  I  pray 
yuu,  form  not  your  opinion  from  certain  publications.  The  vanity,  restlessness,  and 
petulance  of  those  who  hide  their  intrinsic  weakness  in  bustle,  and  uproar,  and  puffing, 
and  mutual  quotation  of  each  other,  make  you  imagine  that  the  nation's  contemptuous 
neglect  is  a  mark  of  acquiescence  in  their  opinions.  No  such  thing,  I  assure  you  !  Be- 
cause half  a  dozen  grasshoppers  under  a  fern  make  the  field  ring  with  their  importunate 
chink,  while  thousands  of  great  cattle,  reposing  under  the  shadow  of  the  British  oak, 
chew  the  cud  and  are  silent,  pray  do  not  imagine  that  those  who  make  the  noise  are  the 
only  inhabitants  of  the  field." 

It  is  right,  however,  in  common  fairness  towards  Horace,  to  remark,  that 
while  fighting  in  his  juvenile  days  under  the  banners  of  Brutus,  even  then  he 
never  for  a  moment  contemplated  Mob-ascendency  in  Rome  as  the  ultimate 
result  of  his  patriotic  efforts.  Like  Cato  and  Tully,  in  the  part  he  took  he 
merely  espoused  the  cause  of  tiik  Sknati:,  in  opposition  to  that  of  a  frenzied 
rabble,  rushing  on,  with  swinish  desperation,  to  political  suicide  ;  for  in  that,  as 
in  every  age,  the  deluded  multitude,  in  his  view,  was  sure  to  become  the  dupe 
of  some  designing  and  knavish  demagogue,  unless  rescued,  in  very  despite  of 
itself,  by  such  interposition  as  the  "  Sknatoks"  could  exercise  in  Rome  ;  Or, 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  379 

we  mav  add,  the  "Barons"  in  England— both  the  hereditary  guardians  of 
libertv.'  When  the  adhesion  of  the  conscript  fathers  had  sanctioned  the  pro- 
tectorate of  Augustus,  the  transition  to  openly  Conservative  politics,  on  the 
poet's  part,  was  as  honourable  as  it  was  judicious.  The  contempt  he  felt, 
through  his  whole  career,  for  the  practice  of  propitiating  the  sweet  voices  of  the 
populace  by  a  surrender  of  principle,  is  as  plainly  discoverable  throughout  the 
whole  of  his  varied  writings  as  his  antipathy  to  garlic,  or  his  abhorrence  of 
"  Can  id  i  a." 

His  little  volume  contains  the  distilled  quintessence  of  Roman  life,  when  at 
its  verv  acme  of  refinement.  It  is  the  most  perfect  portraiture  (cabinet  size) 
that  remains  of  the  social  habits,  domestic  elegance,  and  cultivated  intercourse 
of  the  capital,  at  the  most  interesting  period  of  its  prosperity.  But'the  philo- 
sophy it  inculcates,  and  the  worldly  wisdom  it  unfolds,  is  applicable  to  all  times 
and  all  countries.  Hence,  tve  cannot  sympathize  with  the  somewhat  childish 
(to  sav  the  least  of  it)  distaste,  or  indisposition,  evinced  by  the  immortal  pil- 
grim, Harold  (canto  iv.  st.  Ixxv.),  for  reverting,  even  in  the  full  maturity  of  ex- 
perienced manhood,  to  those  ever-enduring  lyrics  that  formed  the  nourishment 
of  our  young  intellect,  in  our  schoolboy  days,  "  when  George  the  Third  was 
king."  The  very  affectation  of  alluding  to  the  "drilled  dull  lesson,  forced 
down,  word  for  w'-ord,  in  his  repugnant  youth,"  proves  the  alumnus  of  Harrow 
on  the  Hill  to  have  relished  and  recollected  the  almost  identical  lines  of  the 
author  he  feigns  to  disremember— Ca/v/.'/z/i/  l.ivi  ineinini  plagosum  viihi 
pa}-co  Orbilium  dictarc  (Epist.  ii.  70) ;  and  (though  Peel  may  have  been  a 
more  assiduous  scholar)  we  can  hardly  believe. the  beauties  of  Horace  to  have 
been  lost  on  Bvron,  even  in  his  earliest  hours  of  idleness.  It  is  apropos  of 
Mount  Soracte,  on  which  he  stumbles  in  the  progress  of  his  peregrination,  that 
the  noble  poet  vents  his  "  fixed  inveteracy"  of  hatred  against  a  book  which,  at 
the  same  time,  he  extols  in  terms  not  less  eloquent  than  true  : 

"  Then  farewell,  Horace  !  whoni  I  hated  so  ; 
Not  for  thy  faults,  but  mine  !     It  is  a  curse 
To  understand,  not  feel,  thy  lyric  flow. 
To  comprehend,  but  never  love,  thy  verse. 
Although  no  deeper  moralist  rehearse 
Our  little  life,  nor  bard  prescribe  his  art, 

Nor  livelier  satirist  the  conscience  pierce, 
Awakening  without  wounding  the  touch'd  heart. 
Farewell  fupon  Soracte's  ridge  we  part  !" 

We  can  readily  imagine  the  comic  nature  of  such  a  "parting."  We  picture 
in  our  mind's  eye  him  of  Newstead  Abbey  bidding  hi  in  of  the  Sabine  farm 

"  Farewell  !— a  word  that  has  been,  and  shall  be  ;" 

while  we  fancy  we  can  hear  the  pithv  •'Bon  voyage,  milor,"  with  which  sig- 
nificant formula  (in  Latin)  he  is  gently  dismissed  by  the  weeping  Flaccus— 
oaKnv)(t(av  •ytXacxai.  •         -1       i       i 

Prout  was  not  addicted  to  this  aristocratic  propensity  for  cutting  all  school- 
boy acquaintances.  In  him  was  strikingly  exemplified  the  theory  which  attri- 
butes uncommon  intensity  and  durableness  to  first  attachments  :  it  is  generally 
applied  to  love  ;  he  carried  the  practice  into  the  liaisons  of  literature,  i  he  ode:, 
of  Horace  were  his  eariiest  mistresses  in  poetry ;  they  took  his  fancy  m  youth, 
their  fascinations  haimted  his  memory  in  old  age — 

"  l'on  REVIEXT  TOL'JOURS 
A  ses  premiers  amours." 

Most  of  the  following  papers,  forming  a  series  of  Horatian  studies,  were 
penned  in  Italy,  often  on  the  very  spots  that  gave  birth  to  the  effusions  01  tne 


witty  Roman ;  but  it  appears  to  have  afforded  the  Father  considerable  satisfac- 
tion to  be  able,  in  the  quiet  hermitage  of  his  hill,  to  redigest  and  chew  the  cud 
of  whatever  might  have  been  crude  and  unmatured  in  his  juvenile  lucubrations. 
He  seems  to  have  taken  an  almost  equal  interest  in  the  writers,  the  glories,  and 
the  monuments  of  Pagax  as  of  Papal  Rome  :  there  was  in  his  mental  vision 
a  strange  but  not  unpleasant  confusion  of  both;  the  Vaiicani  7nontis  ima^^o 
(lib.  i.  20)  forming,  in  his  idea,  a  sort  of  bifurcated  Parnassus — St.  Peter  on  the 
one  peak,  and  Jupiter  on  the  other.  Mr.  Poynder  has  written  a  tract  on  this 
supposed  "alliance  between  Popery  and  Heathenis?n,"  which  Dr.  Wisem.\N, 
in  these  latter  days,  has  thought  worthy  of  a  pamphlet  in  reply.  The  gravity 
of  the  question  deters  us  from  entering  on  it  here  ;  but,  to  reconcile  the  matter, 
might  we  not  adopt  the  etymological  lucdius  terminus  of  Dean  Swift,  and 
maintain  that  Jove — Zti/s  Traxjjp,  or  Sospiter — was  nothing,  after  all,  but  the 
Jew  Peter  ? 

We  are  not  without  hopes  of  finding,  among  Prout's  miscellanies,  an  elabo- 
rate treatise  on  this  very  topic.  The  French  possess  a  work  of  infinite  erudi- 
tion, called  "  L'Histoire  veritable  des  Tems  Fabuleux,"  in  which  the  "  Iliad  " 
is  shown  to  be  an  arrant  plagiarism  from  the  three  last  chapters  of  the  Book  of 
Judges;  the  Levite's  wife  being  the  prototype  of  Helen,  and  the  tribe  of  Ben- 
jamin standing  for  the  Trojans.  Wit,  says  Edmund  Burke,  is  usually  displayed 
by  finding  points  of  contact  and  resemblance;  judgment,  or  discrimination, 
generally  manifests  itself  in  the  faculty  of  perceiving  the  points  of  disagreement 
and  disconnection. 

But  it  is  high  time  to  resume  our  editorial  seat,  and  let  the  Father  catch  the 
eye  of  the  reader. 

"  With  faire  discourse  the  evening  so  they  passe, 

For  that  olde  man  of  pleasaunte  wordes  had  store, 
And  well  could  file  his  tongue  as  smoothe  as  glasse : 
He  tolde  of  saintes  and  popes,  and  evermore 
He  strowed  an  Ave-Marv  after  and  before." 


Regent  Street,  June  2-jtk. 


Faery  Queene,  canto  1.  stan»  35. 
Oliver  Yorke. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONyE. 

I.  Prout. 
n.  A71  Elzevir.     i2mo. 
\\\.  A  Jug  of  Punch.     4to. 
Scene. —  Watergrasshill. 

Here's  a  health  to  Horace  !  "  Vivi  tuf"  Songster  of  TivoLi,  who  alone 
of  all  the  tuneful  dead,  alone  of  Greek  and  Roman  wits,  may  be  said  to  live. 
If  to  be  quoted  and  requoted,  rmtil  every  superficial  inch  of  thy  toga  hiis  be- 
come (from  quotation)  threadbare,  constitute  perpetuity  of  poetical  existence, 
according  to  the  theory  of  Ennius  {volito  vivu  per  ora  virurn),  such  LIFE  has 
beerr  pre-eminently  vouchsafed  to  thee.  In  the  circle  of  thy  comprehensive 
philosophy,  few  things  belonging  to  heaven  or  earth  were  undreann  of;  nor 
did  it  escape  thy  instinctive  penetration  that  in  yonder  brief  tome,  short,  plump, 
and  tidy,  like  its  artificer,  thou  hadst  erected  a  monument  more  durable  than 
brass,  more  permanent  than  an  Irish  "round  tower,"  or  a  pyramid  of 
King  Cheops.  It  was  j^lain  to  thy  intuitive  ken,  that,  whatever  mischance 
might  befall  the  heavier  and  more  massive  jiroductions  of  ancient  wisdom,  thy 
lyrics  were  destined  to  outlive  them  all.     Tliat  though  the  epics  of  Varius 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  381 


might  be  lost,  or  the  decades  of  LiVY  desiderated,  remotest  posterity  would 
possess  thee  (hke  the  stout  of  Barclay  and  Perkins)  "  entire  ' — would  enjoy 
thy  book,  undocked  of  its  due  proportions,  uncurtailed  of  a  single  page — 
would  bask  in  the  rays  of  thy  gexil'S,  unshorn  of  a  single  beam.  As  often  as 
the  collected  works  of  other  classic  worthies  are  ushered  into  the  world,  the 
melancholy  appendage  on  the  title-page  of 

"  Omnia  q^ice  extant  " 

is  sure  to  meet  our  e\'e,  reminding  us,  in  the  very  announcement  of  the  feast  of 
intellect,  that  there  is  a.a  a  mar i  aliquid ;  viz.  that  much  entertaining  matter 
has  irretrievably  perished.  The  torso  of  the  Belvidere  is,  perhaps,  as  far  as  it 
goes,  superior  to  the  Apollo  ;  but  the  latter  is  a  complete  statue  :  a  Greenwich 
pensioner  with  a  wooden  leg  is  a  very  respectable— but  truncated — copy  of 
humanity.  Thy  MSS.  have  come  down  to  us  unmutilated  by  the  pumice- 
stone  of  palimpsestic  monk,  imsinged  by  the  torch  of  Calif  Omar,  imgnawed 
by  the  tooth  of  Time.  The  perlect  preservation  of  thy  writings  is  only  equalled 
by  the  universality  of  their  diffusion— a  point  especially  dwelt  on  in  that  joyously 
geographic  rhapsody  of  a  prophetic  soul  (lib.  ii.  ode  20),  wherein  thou  pourest 
forth  thy  full  anticipation  of  oecumenic  glory.  If  thou  canst  hardly  be  said  still 
to  haunt  the  "shores  of  the  Bosphorus,"  take  "OxFOKD"asa  literal  sub- 
stitute :  though  disappointed  of  fame  among  the  "remote  Geloni,"  thou  hast 
an  equivalent  in  the  miUion  schoolboys  of  South  America.  Should  the 
"learned  Iberian"  chance  to  neglect  thee  amid  the  disasters  of  his  country, 
hanging  up  thy  forsaken  lyre  on  the  willows  of  the  Guadalquiver — should  they 
"who  drink  the  Rhone"  divide  their  affections  between  (thy  brother  bard) 
Beranger  and  thee,  thou  mayest  still  count  among  "the  Dacians"  of  the 
Danube  admirers  and  commentators.  I'hou  hast  unlooked-for  votaries  on  the 
Hudson  and  the  St.  Lawrence;  and  though  Burns  may  triumph  on  the  Tweed, 
Tom  Moore  can  never  prevent  thee  from  being  paramount  on  the  Shannon,  nor 
Tom  D'Urfey  evict  thee  from  supremacy  on  the  Thames.  In  accordance  with 
thy  fondest  aspiration,  thou  hast  been  pointed  out  as  the  "prime  performer 
on  the  Roman  lyre,"  by  successive  centuries  as  they  passed  away  {digito 
prcBtereuntiutn)  :  the  dry  skeleton  of  bygone  criticism  hung  up  in  our  libraries, 
so  designates  thee  with  its  bony  mdex  :  to  thee,  Pkinxe  of  Lyric  Poets  !  is 
still  directed  in  these  latter  days,  albeit  with  occasional  aberrations  (for  even  the 
magnetic  needle  varies  under  certain  influences),  the  ever-reverting  finger  of 
Fame. 

Here,  then,  I  say,  is  a  health  to  Horace  !  Though  the  last  cheerful  drop 
in  my  vesper-bowl  to-night  be  well-nigh  drained,  and  the  increasing  feebleness 
of  age  reminds  me  too  plainly  that  the  waters  are  ebbing  fast  in  my  Clepsydra 
of  life,  still  have  I  a  blessing  in  reserve — a  benison  to  bestow  on  the  provider 
of  such  intellectual  enjoyment  as  yon  small  volume  has  ever  afforded  me ;  nor 
to  the  last  shall  I  discontinue  holding  sweet  converse,  through  its  medium,  with 
the  Graces  and  the  Nine. 

Oy  TravffOfxai  Tas  x^/otTas 
Movaaiai  ffuy/ca-r/iiyi'us 
HoiaTav  (Tu^i/yiai/. 

In  the  brief  biographic  memoir  left  us  by  Suetonius,  we  read  that  the  em- 
peror was  in  the  habit  of  comparing  the  poet's  book,  and  the  poet  himself,  to  a 
FLAGON — cum  circuitus  voluminis  sit  oyKwoso-TaTos,  sicut  est  yentriculi  tin. 
Various  and  multiform  are  the  vitrified  vases  and  terracotta  jars  dug  up  at 
Pompeii,  and  elsewhere,  with  evidence  of  having  served  as  depr :-;toi:es  for 
Roman  sack;  but  the  peculiar  Horatian  shape  alluded  to  by  Aul;.  ^.^.^  iias  not 
been  fixed  on  by  antiquaries.     The  Florentine  academy  a'^/Az  ./..-re,  whose 


382  TJic  Works  of  Father  Front. 

opinion  on  this  point  ought  to  obtain  universal  attention,  have  considered  them- 
selves authorized,  from  the  passage  in  Suetonius,  to  trace  (as  they  have  done, 
in  their  valuable  vocabulary)  the  modern  words,  Jlaccone  Jiasco  (whence  our 
flask),  to  Q.  Horat.  Flaccvs.  The  origin  of  the  English  term  bumper,  it  is 
fair  to  add,  has  been,  with  equal  sagacity,  brought  home  by  Joe  Miller  to  our 
"  bon  pcre,"  the  pope.  But  commend  me  to  the  German  commentators  for 
transcendental  ingenuity  in  classical  criticism.  Need  I  more  than  instance  the 
judicious  Milcherlick's  hint,  that  the  birth  of  our  poet  must  have  presented  a 
clear  case  of  litsns  natiirce  ;  since,  in  his  ode  Ad  Amphoram  (xxi.  lib.  iii.),  we 
have,  from  his  own  lips,  the  portentous  fact  of  his  having  come  into  the  world 
"in  company  with  a  bottle,"  under  the  consulship  of  IManlius?  Should  the 
fact  of  his  having  had  a  twin-brother  of  that  description  be  substantiated,  on 
historical  and  obstetric  principles,  we  shall  cease,  of  course,  to  wonder  at  the 
similitude  discovered  by  the  emperor.  Byron  maintains — though  without  any 
data  whatever  to  warrant  his  assertion — that  "  Happiness  was  born  a  twin" 
(]uan,  canto  ii.  st.  172)  ;  the  case  was,  perhaps,  like  that  imagined  by  Mil- 
cherlick. 

My  own  theory  on  the  subject  is  not,  as  yet,  sufficiently  matured  to  lay  it 
before  the  learned  of  Europe ;  but  from  the  natural  juxtaposition  of  the  two 
congenial  objects  now  before  me,  and  the  more  than  chemical  affinity  with 
which  I  find  the  contents  of  the  Elzevir  to  blend  in  harmonious  mixture  with 
those  of  the  jug,  I  should  feel  quite  safe  in  predicating  (if  sprightliness,  vigour, 
and  versatility  constitute  sufficiently  fraternal  features)  that  the  "spirit  in  the 
leaves  "  is  brother  to  the  "  bottle  imp." 

"Alterius  sic. 
Altera  poscit  opem  res  et  conjurat  amice. " 

Art.  Poet.,  408 

The  recondite  philosophy  of  the  common  expression,  "Animal  Spirits," 
has  not,  that  I  am  aware  of,  been  thoroughly  investigated,  or  its  import  fully 
developed,  by  modern  metaphysicians.  How  animal  matter  may  become  so 
impregnated,  or,  to  use  the  school  term,  "  compenetrated,"  by  a  spiritual 
essence,  as  to  lose  its  substantive  nature  and  become  a  mere  adjective,  or  modi- 
fication of  the  all-absorbing  Trueu/Jia,  is  a  "rub"  fit  to  puzzle  Hamlet.  In  my 
Lord  Brougham's  ' '  Natural  Theology,"  which  gives  the  solution  of  every  knov.'n 
question,  this  difficulty  is  unaccountably  neglected.  There  is  not  a  single  word 
about  animated  alcohol.  An  ingenious  doubt  was  expressed  by  some  great 
thinker — Jack  Reeve,  or  Doctor  Wade — after  a  protracted  sitting,  whether, 
legally,  the  landlord  could  remove  him  off  the  premises  without  a  "permit." 
That  was  genuine  metaphysics,  far  above  all  Kant's  rubbish.  How  are  we,  in 
fact,  to  draw  the  distinction?  Is  there  to  be  one  law  for  a  living  vessel,  and 
another  for  an  inert  jar?  May  not  the  ingredients  that  go  to  fill  them  be  the 
same?  the  quantity  identical  in  both  recipients?  Why,  then,  should  not  the 
Excise  anxiously  track  the  footsteps  of  so  many  walking  gallons  of  X  X  X, 
with  the  same  maternal  solicitude  she  manifests  in  watching  the  progress  and 
removal  of  spirit  in  earthenware?  This  common-sense  view  of  the  matter 
was  long  ago  taken  up  by  Don  Quixote,  when,  acting  on  the  suggestion  of 
calm  logic,  he  gave  battle  to  certain  goat-skins,  distended  with  the  recent 
vintage  of  Valdepenas.  Cervantes  may  sneer,  but  the  onslaught  does  not 
appear  to  me  irrational.  Was  the  knigiit  to  wait  till  the  same  juice  should 
offer  itself  under  the  form  and  colour  of  blood,  to  be  shed  from  the  bodies  of 
bloated  buffoons  in  buckram  ?     Clearly  not  ! 

But  to  return.  If  by  animal  spirits  be  meant  that  state  of  buoyancy  and 
elevation  in  which  the  opaque  corporeal  essence  is  lost  in  the  frolicsome  play  of 
the  fancy,  and  evaporates  in  ethereal  sallies,  a  collateral  and  parallel  process 
takes  place  when  the  imaginative  and  rarefied  faculties  of  m///d  are,  as  it 


Jlie  Songs  of  Horace. 


3S3 


were,  condensed  so  as  to  give  a  precipitate,  and  form  a  distinct  portion  of 
visible  and  tangible  matter.  Yon  Elzevir  is  a  case  in  point.  In  the  small 
compass  of  a  duodecimo  we  hold  and  manipulate  the  concentrated  feelings  and 
follies,  the  "quips  and  cranks,"  the  wit  and  wisdom,  of  a  period^never 
equalled  in  the  history  of  mankind  :  the  current  conversational  tones  and 
topics  are  made  familiar  to  us,  though  the  interlocutors  have  long  since 
mouldered  in  the  grave.  The  true  falernian  wine  ripens  no  more  on  the 
accustomed  slope ;  the  formiani  colles  ari  now  barren  and  unprofitaitle  ; 
but,  owing  to  the  above-mentioned  process,  .we  can  still  relish  their  bouquet  in 
the  odes  of  Horace  :  we  can  find  the  genuine  smack  of  the  C^ecubean  grape  in 
the  effusions  it  inspired. 

I  recollect  Tom  Moore  once  talking  to  me,  after  dinner,  of  Campbell's  "  Exile 
of  Erin,"  and  remarking,  in  his  ordinary  concetto  style,  that  the  sorrows  of 
Ireland  were  in  that  elegy  crystallized  and  made  immortal.  Tommy  was 
right  ;  and  he  may  be  proud  of  having  done  something  in  that  way  hirnself  : 
for  when  the  fashion  of  drinking  "Wrights  champagne"  shall  have  passed 
away,  future  ages  will  be  able  to  form  a  notion  of  that  once  celebrated 
beverage  from  the  perusal  of  his  poetry.  There  it  is,  crystallized  for 
posterity. 

Horace  presents  us,  in  his  person,  with  an  accomplished  specimen  of  the 
bo7i  vivaut ;  such  as  that  agreeable  variety  of  the  human  species  was  under- 
stood by  antiquity.  Cheerfulness  and  wit,  conjointedly  with  \\orldly  wisdoin, 
generally  ensure  a  long,  jolly,  and  prosperous  career  to  their  possessor. 

I  just  now  adverted  to  the  good  luck  which  has  secured  his  ivriti/igs  against 
accident  :  his  personal  preservation  through  what  Mathews  would  term  the 
"  wicissitudes  and  waccinations  "  of  life,  appears  to  have  been,  from  his  own 
account,  fully  as  miraculous.  A  somewhat  profane  French  proverb  asserts, 
qu'il y  a  nnc  Providence  pour  les  ivrogncs  ;  but  whatever  celestial  surveJUance 
watches  over  the  zigzag  progress  of  a  drunkard— whatever  privilege  may  be 
pleaded  by  the  plenipotentiary  of  Bacchus,  poetry  would  seem,  in  his  case,  to 
liave  had  peculiar  prerogatives.  Sleeping  in  his  childhood  on  some  mountain- 
top  of  Apuha,  pigeons  covered  him  with  leaves,  that  no  "  bears  "  or  "snakes" 
might  get  at  him  (lib.  iii.  ode  iv.) ;  a  circumstance  of  some  importance  to 
infant  genius,  which,  alas  !  cannot  always  escape  the  "  hug"  of  the  one  or  the 
"sting  "  of  the  other.  Again,  at  the  battle  of  Philippi,  he  tells  us  how  he  had 
well-nigh  perished,  had  not  Mercury  snatched  lum  up  from  the  very  thick  of 
the  inclec,  fully  aware  of  his  value,  and  unwilling  to  let  him  run  the  risk  to 
which  vulgar  chair  a  canon  is  exposed.  Subsequently,  \\hile  walking  over 
his  grounds  at  the  Sabine  farm,  the  fallen  trunk  of  an  old  tree  was  within  an 
ace  of  knocking  out  his  brains,  had  not  Faun,  v.hom  he  describes  as  the 
guardian-angel  of  mercurial  men — inercurialium  ciistos  z'irorum — interposed 
at  the  critical  moment.  To  Mercury  he  has  dedicated  many  a  graceful  hymn  : 
more  than  one  modem  poet  might  safely  acknowledge  certain  obhgations  to 
the  same  quarter.  But  all  are  not  so  communicative  as  Horace  of  their 
personal  adventures. 

What  he  states  in  his  bantering  epistle  to  Julius  Florius  cannot  be  true;  viz. 
that  poverty  made  a  poet  of  him  : 

"  Paiipertas  impulii  andax 
Ut  versus /cicere7n." 

Ep.  ii.  2,  51. 

On  the  contrary,  far  from  offering  any  symptoms  of  jejune  inspiration  or  garret 
origin,  his  effusions  bear  testimony  to  the  pleasant  mood  of  mind  in  which 
they  were  poured  forth,  and  are  redolent  of  the  joyousness  of  happy  and 
convivial  hours.     Boileau,  a  capital  judge,  maintains  that  the  jovial  exhilara- 


384 


The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 


tion  pervading  all  his  poetry  betrays  the  vinous  influence  under  which  he 
wrote^ 

"  Horace  a  bit  son  saotil  qiiand  il  voit  les  RIenades  ;  " 

an  observation  previously  made  by  a  rival  satirist  of  Rome — 

"  Satur  est  cum  dicit  Horatius  ohe  !  " 

Hints  of  this  kind  are  sometimes  hazarded  in  reference  to  very  g^ave  writers, 
but.  in  the  present  instance,  will  be  more  readily  believed  than  the  assertion 
made  by  Plutarch,  in  his  Su/xTroaiot;,  that  the  gloomy  Eschylus  "was  habitually 
drunk  when  he  wrote  his  tragedies." 

In  adopting  the  poetical  profession  he  but  followed  the  bent  of  his  nature  : 
thus,  LYRICS  were  the  spontaneous  produce  of  his  mind,  as  fables  were  of  a 
kindred  soul,  the  «ai/Lafontaine.  "  lo/ll  uu  figuier,"  said  the  latter  one 
day  to  Madame  de  la  Sabliere,  in  the  gardens  of  \'ersailles  ;  ''  ct  vioi,  je  suis  tni 
FABLIER."  Let  us  take  the  official  manifesto  with  which  Horace  opens  the 
volume  of  his  odes,  and  we  will  be  at  once  put  in  possession  of  his  views  of 
human  hfe,  through  all  its  varied  vanities  ;  of  which  poetry  is,  after  all,  but  one, 
and  not  the  most  ridiculous. 


ODE  I.— TO  MEC.^NAS. 

"  Mecaenas  !  atavis  edite  regibus,"  &c. 

My  friend  and  patron,  in  whose  veins  runneth  nght  royal  blood. 

Give  but  to  some  the  Hyppodrome,  the  car,  the  prancing  stud. 

Clouds  of  Olympic  dust — then  mark  what  ecstasy  of  soul 

Their  bosom  feels,  as  the  rapt  wheels  glowing  have  grazed  the  goal. 

Talk  not  to  them  of  diadem  or  sceptre,  save  the  whip — 

A  branch  of  palm  can  raise  them  to  the  gods'  companionship. 

And  there  be  some,  my  friend,  for  whom  the  crowd's  applause  is  food, 
^VTlo  pine  without  the  hollow  shout  of  Rome's  mad  multitude  ; 
Others,  whose  giant  greediness  whole  provinces  would  drain — 
Their  sole  pursuit  to  gorge  and  glut  huge  granaries  with  grain. 

Yon  homely  hind,  calmly  resigned  his  narrow  farm  to  plod. 
Seek  not  with  Asia's  wealth  to  wean  from  his  paternal  sod  : 
Ye  can't  prevail  !  no  varnish'd  tale  that  simple  swain  will  urge. 
In  galley  built  of  Cyprus  oak,  to  plough  th'  Egean  surge. 

Your  merchant-mariner,  who  sighs  for  fields  and  quiet  home, 
While  o'er  the  main  the  hurricane  howls  round  his  path  of  foam, 
Will  form,  I  trow,  full  many  a  vow,  the  deep  for  aye  t'  eschew. 
He  lands  -  what  then  ?    Pelf  prompts  again — his  ship's  afloat  anew  ! 

Soft  Leisure  hath  its  votaries,  whose  bliss  it  is  to  bask 
In  summer's  ray  the  livelong  day,  quaffing  a  mellow  flask 
Under  the  greenwood  tree,  or  where,  but  newly  born  as  yet. 
Religion  guards  the  cradle  of  the  infant  rivulet. 

Some  love  the  camp,  the  horseman's  tramp,  the  clarion's  voice  ;  aghast 
Pale  mothers  hear  the  trumpeter,  and  loathe  the  murderous  blast. 

I.o  !  under  wint'r>'  skies  his  game  the  Hunter  still  pursues  ; 
And,  while  his  bonny  bride  with  tears  her  lonely  bed  bedews, 
He  for  his  antler'd  foe  looks  out.  or  tracks  the  forest  whence 
Broke  the  wild  boar,  whose  daring  tusk  levell'd  the  fragile  fence. 

Thee  the  pursuits  of  learning  claim— a  claim  the  gods  allow  ; 
Thine  is  the  ivy  coronal  that  decks  the  scholar's  brow  : 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  33^ 


Me  in  the  woods  deep  solitudes  the  n>-mphs  a  client  count 

Ihe  dancing  Faux  on  the  green  lawn,  the  Naiad  of  Se  fount 

For  me  her   ute  (sweet  attnbute  !)  let  Polyhymnia  sweep 

For  me,  oh  !  let  the  flageolet  breathe  from  "S-VT^^vHt^-' 

Give  but  to  me  of  poesy  the  lyric  ^^Teath,  and  then         ^ ' 

p  Ih  immortal  halls  of  bliss  won't  hold  a  prouder  denizen. 

His  political  creed  is  embodied  in  this  succeeding  ode  •  and  never  riiH 
patriotism  combined  (as  it  rarely  is)  with  sound  sensed  find  n?Sler  utterance 
than  m  the  poet  s  address  to  the  head  of  the  government  xLdehcate 
ingenuity  employed  in  working  out  his  uhimate%onclusion  the  apparent Iv 
natural  progression  from  so  simple  a  topic  as  the  '' state  of  the  wSer^^ 
even  coupled  as  it  may  have  been  with  an  inundation  of  the  Tiber  To  thkt 
Sedly  adtrX ^'^^-^'^    ^P°^^^°^^^    °^   ^^^    emperor-has^'^e^'er^^tn 


I 


ODE  II. 

"  Jam  satis  terris  nivis  atque  dirae  Grandinis,"  &:c. 

I. 

Since  Jove  decreed  in  storms  to  vent 
The  winter  of  his  discontent. 
Thundering  o'er  Rome  impenitent 

With  red  right  hand, 
The  flood-gates  of  the  firmament 

Have  drench'd  the  land  ! 

ir. 

Terror  hath  seized  the  minds  of  men. 
Who  deem'd  the  days  had  come  again 
^Vhen  Proteus  led,  up  mount  and  glen, 

And  verdant  lawn, 
Of  teeming  ocean's  darksome  den 

The  monstrous  spawn. 

iir. 

^\^^en  Pvrrha  saw  the  ringdove's  nest 
Harbour  a  strange  unbidden  guest, 
And,  by  the  deluge  dispossest 

Of  glade  and  grove, 
Deers  down  the  tide,  with  antler 'd  crest, 

Afirighted  drove. 

IV. 

We  saw  the  yellow  Tiber,  sped    ■ 
Back  to  his  Tuscan  fountain-head, 
O'erwhelm  the  sacred  and  the  dead 

In  one  fell  doom, 
And  Vesta's  pile  in  ruins  spread. 

And  Numa's  tomb. 


V, 

Dreaming  of  days  that  once  had  been. 
He  deem'd  that  wild  disastrous  scene 
Might  soothe  his  Ilia,  injured  queen  ! 

And  comfort  give  her, 
Reckless  though  Jove  should  intervene. 

Uxorious  ri\er  1 


VI. 

Our  sons  will  ask,  why  men  of  Rome 
Drew  against  kindred,  friends,  and  home. 
Swords  that  a  Persian  hecatomb 

Might  best  imbue — 
Sons,  by  their  fathers'  feuds  become 

Feeble  and  few  ! 


VII. 

Whom  can  our  country  call  in  aid  ? 
Where  must  the  patriot's  vow  be  paid? 
With  orisons  shall  Vestal  maid 

Fatigue  the  skies  ? 
Or  will  not  Vest.-\'s  frown  upbraid 

Her  votaries  ? 


VIII. 

Augur  Apollo  !  shall  we  kneel 
To  THEE,  and  for  our  commonweal 
With  humbled  consciousness  appeal  ? 

Oh,  quell  the  storm  ! 
Come,  though  a  silver  vapour  veil 

Thy  radiant  form  ! 


IX. 

Will  Venus  from  Mount  Ervx  stoop, 
And  to  our  succour  hie,  with  troop 
Of  laughing  Gr.\ces,  and  a  group 

Of  Cupids  round  her  ? 
Or  comest  thou  with  wild  war-whoop, 

Dread  Mars  !  our  founder? 


X. 

Whose  voice  so  long  bade  peace  avaunt  ; 
Whose  war-dogs  still  for  slaughter  pant ; 
The  tented  field  thy  chosen  haunt, 

Thy  child  the  Ro.m.^n, 
Fierce  legioner,  whose  visage  gaunt 

Scowls  on  the  foeman. 


XL 

Or  hath  young  Hermes,  Mai.\'s  son. 
The  graceful  guise  and  form  put  on 
Of  thee,  Augustus  ?  and  begun 

(Celestial  stranger  !) 
To  wear  the  name  which  thou  hast  won- 

"Caesar's  Avenger ?  " 


XII. 

Blest  be  the  days  of  thy  sojourn. 
Distant  the  hour  when  ,K()Me  shall  mourn 
The  fatal  sight  of  thy  return 

To  Heaven  again. 
Forced  by  a  guilty  age  to  spurn 

I'he  hainits  of  men. 


j  The  Songs  of  Horace.  387 

';  XIII. 

i  Rather  remain,  beloved,  adored. 

j  Since  Rome,  reliant  on  thy  sword, 

To  thee  of  Jllius  hath  restored 

The  rich  reversion  ; 
Baffle  Assyria's  hovering  horde, 
And  smite  the  Persian  ! 

It  was  fitting  that  thus  early  in  the  series  of  his  lyrics  there  should  appear  a 
record  ot  his  warm  intimacy  with  the  only  Roman  poet  of  them  all,  whose 
genius  could  justly  claim  equal  rank  with  his.  It  is  honourable  to  the 
author  of  the  "  ^neid  "  that  he  feared  not,  in  the  first  instance,  to  introduce 
at  the  court  of  Augustus,  where  his  own  reputation  was  already  established,  one 
who  alone  of  all  his  contemporaries  could  eventually  dispute  the  laureateship, 
and  divide  the  applause  of  the  imperial  circle,  with  himself.  Virgil,  however, 
though  he  has  carefully  embalmed  in  his  pastorals  the  names  of  Gallus,  Asinius 
Pollio,  Varius,  and  Cinna  ;  nay,  though  he  has  wrapt  up  in  the  amber  of  his 
verse  such  grubs  as  Bavins  and  MjevIus,  has  never  once  alluded  to  Horace— at 
least,  in  that  portion  of  his  poems  which  has  come  down  to  us— whilst  the 
lyrist  commemorates  his  gifted  friend  in  more  than  a  dozen  instances.  I  should 
feel  loth  to  attribute  this  apparently  studied  omission  to  any  discreditable 
jealousy  on  the  part  of  the  ^lantuan  ;  but  it  would  have  been  better  had  he 
acted  otherwise.  Concerning  the  general  tenor  of  the  following  outburst  on  the 
shores  of  the  Adriatic,  while  Virgil's  galley  sunk  below  the  horizon,  it  will  be 
seen  that  his  passionate  attachment  leads  him  into  an  invective  against  the 
shipping  interest,  which  I  do  not  seek  to  justify. 


ODE  III.— TO  THE  SHIP  BEARING  VIRGIL  TO  GREECE. 

*'  Sic  te  diva  potens,"  &c. 

I. 

May  Love's  own  planet  guide  th#e  o'er  the  wave  ! 
Brightly  aloft 
Helen's  star-brother's  twinkling. 
And  EoLfS  chain  all  his  children,  save 
A  west-wind  soft 
Thy  liquid  pathway  wrinkling, 
Galley  I  to  whom  we  trust,  on  thy  parole. 
Our  Virgil, — mark 
Thou  bear  him  in  thy  bosom 
Safe  to  the  land  of  Greece  ;  for  half  my  soul, 
O  gallant  bark  ! 
Were  lost  if  I  should  lose  him. 

II. 

A  breast  of  bronze  full  sure,  and  ribs  of  oak. 
Were  his  who  first 
Defied  the  tempest-demon ; 
Dared  in  a  fragile  skiff  the  blast  provoke. 
And  boldly  burst 
Forth  on  the  deep  a  Seaman  ! 
Whom  no  conflicting  hurricanes  could  daunt. 
Nor  Boreas  chill, 
Nor  weeping  Hyads  sadden. 
E'en  on  yon  gulf,  whose  lord,  the  loud  Levant, 
Can  calm  at  will, 
Or  to  wild  frenzy  madden. 


388 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


III. 

What  dismal  form  must  Death  put  on  for  him 
Whose  cold  eye  mocks 
The  dark  deep's  huge  indwellers  ! 
Who  calm  athwart  the  billows  sees  the  grim 
Ceraunian  rocks, 
Of  wail  and  woe  tale-tellers  !— 
Though  Providence  pour'd  out  its  ocean-flood, 
Whose  broad  expanse 
Might  land  from  land  dissever, 
Careering  o'er  the  waters,  Man  withstood 
Jove's  ordinance 
With  impious  endeavour. 

IV. 

The  human  breast,  with  bold  aspirings  fraught. 
Throbs  thus  unawed. 
Untamed,  and  unquiescent. 
Fire  from  the  skies  a  son  of  Japhet  brought. 
And,  fatal  fraud  ! 
Made  earth  a  guilty  present. 
Scarce  was  the  spark  snatch'd  from  the  bright  abode. 
When  round  us  straight 
A  ghastly  phalanx  thicken'd, 
i^'^^rand  Palsy;  and  grim  Death,  who  strode 
With  tardy  gait 
Far  off, — his  coming  quicken'd  ! 


Wafted  on  daring  art's  fictitious  plume 
The  Cretan  rose, 
And  waved  his  wizard  pinions  ; 
Downwards  Alcides  pierced  the  realms  of  gloom, 
Where  darkly  flows 
Styx,  through  the  dead's  dominions. 
Naught  is  beyond  our  reach,  beyond  our  scope, 
And  heaven's  high  laws 
Still  fail  to  keep  us  under  ; 
How  can  our  unreposing  malice  hope 
Respite  or  pause 
From  Jove's  avenging  thunder? 

The  lone  of  tender  melancholy  which  pervades  all  his  dreams  of  earthly  hap- 
piness—the  constant  recurrence  of  allusions  to  Death,  which  startle  us  in  his 
gave-t  and  apparently  most  careless  strains,  is  a  very  distinguishing  feature  of 
the  poet's  state  of  mind.  There  is  something  here  beyond  what  appears  on  the 
surface.  The  skull  so  ostentatiously  displayed  at  the  banquets  of  P^gypt  had 
its  mvstery. 

ODE  IV. 


"  Solvitur  acris  hyems." 


I. 


Now  Winter  melts  beneath 
String's  genial  breath, 
And  Zei-hvr 
Hack  to  the  water  yields 
The  stranded  bark— back  to  the  fields 
The  stabled  heifer  -- 
.■\nd  the  gay  rural  scene 
The  shepherd's  foot  can  wean, 
I'orth   from    his    homely   hearth,    to   tread   the 
meadows  green. 


Solvitur  acris  hiems 
Grata  vice 

Veris  et  Kavoni  ; 
Trahuntque  siccas 

Machina:  carinas : 

Ac  neque  jam  stabulis 

Gaudet  pecus 

Aut  arator  igni ; 
Nee  prata  cams 

Alijicant  pruinis. 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


389 


II. 

Now  Venus  loves  to  group 
Her  merry  troop 
Of  maidens, 
Who,  while  the  moon  peeps  out. 
Dance  with  the  Graces  round  about 
Their  queen  in  cadence  ', 
While  far,  'mid  fire  and  noise, 
Vulcan  his  forge  employs, 
Where    Cyclops   grim   aloft   their   ponderous 
sledges  poise. 


II. 

Jam  Cytherea  choros 
Ducit  Venus, 

Imminente  Luna ; 
Junctseque  Nymphis 

Gratiae  decentes 
Altemo  terram 

Quatiunt  pede, 

Dum  graves  Cyclopum 
Vulcanus  ardens 

Urit  officinas. 


III. 

Now  maids,  with  myrtle-bough. 
Garland  their  brow — 
Each  forehead 
Shining  with  flow'rets  deck'd  ; 
While  the  glad  earth,  by  frost  uncheck'd, 
Buds  out  all  florid  ; — 
Now  let  the  knife  devote, 
In  some  still  grove  remote, 
A  victim-lamb  to  Faun  ;    or,   should  he  lis^ 
a  goat. 


III. 

Nunc  decet  aut  viridi 
Nitidum  caput 

Impedire  myrto, 
Aut  flore,  terrse 

Quern  ferunt  solutae. 
Nunc  et  in  umbrosis 
Fauno  decet 

Immolare  lucis, 
Seu  poscat,  agnS, 

Sive  malit,  hoedo. 


IV. 

Death's  undisceming  foot 
Knocks  at  the  hut ; 
The  lowly 
As  the  most  princely  gate. 
O  favour'd  friend  !  on  life's  brief  date 
To  count  were  folly  ; 
Soon  shall,  in  vapours  dark, 
Quench'd  be  thy  vital  spark. 
And  thou,   a  silent    ghost,   for  Pluto's 
embark. 


land 


IV. 

Pallida  mors  oequo 
Pulsat  pede 

Pauperum  tabernas, 
Regumque  turres. 

O  beate  Sesti, 
Vitse  summa  brevis 
Spem  nos  vetat 

Inchoare  longam. 
Jam  te  premet  nox, 

Fabulseque  Manes, 


V. 

Where  at  no  gay  repast, 
By  dice's  cast 
King  chosen. 
Wine-laws  shalt  thou  enforce. 
But  weep  o'er  joy  and  love's  warm  soturce 
For  ever  frozen  ; 
And  tender  Lydia  lost, 
Of  all  the  town  the  toast, 
Who  then,   when  thou   art  gone,  will  fire  all 
bosoihs  most ! 


Et  domus  exilis 
Plutonia  : 

Quo  simul  mearis. 
Nee  regna  vini 

Sortiere  talis ; 
Nee  teneram  Lydiam 
Mirabere, 

Qua  calet  juventus 
Nunc  omnis,  et  tun 

Alagis  incalebit 


In  the  following  lines  to  Pyrrha  we  have  set  before  us  a  Roman  lady's  boudoir, 
sketched  d  la  Watieau.  Female  fickleness  was,  among  the  Greeks,  a  subject 
deemed  inexhaustible.  Horace  has  contrived  to  say  much  thereanent  through- 
out his  volume;  but  the  matter  seems  to  be  as  fresh  as  ever  among  the 
moderns.— It  has,  no  doubt,  given  great  edification  to  Mr.  Poynder  to  observe 
that  the  practice  alluded  to,  towards  the  closing  verses,  of  hanging  up  what  is 
called  an  ''ex  voto"  in  the  temples,  still  prevails  along  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean.  For  that  matter,  any  Cockney,  by  proceeding  only  as  far  as 
Boulogne-sur-Mer,  may  find  evidence  of  this  classic  heathenism  in  full  vogue 
among  the  GaUic  fishermen. 


390 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


ODE  v.— PYRRHA'S  INXOXSTAN'CY. 
"  Quis  multi  gracilis  te  puer  in  rosd." 


I. 

Pyrrha,  who  now,  mayhap. 

Pours  on  thy  perfumed  lap, 
NVith  rosy  wreath,  fair  youth,  his  fond  addresses? 

Beneath  thy  charming  grot. 

For  whom,  in  gay  love-knot, 
Playfully  dost  thou  bind  thy  yellow  tresses? 

ir. 

So  simple  in  thy  neatness  ! 

Alas  !  that  so  much  sweetness 
Should  ever  prove  the  prelude  of  deception  ! 

Must  he  bewail  too  late 

His  sadly  alter'd  fate, 
Chill'd  by  a  bleak  tempestuous  reception, 

III. 

\\"ho  now,  to  fondness  prone. 

Deeming  thee  all  his  own. 
Revels  in  a  long  dream  of  future  favour  ; 

So  bright  ihy  beauty  glows, 

Still  fascinating  those 
Who  have  not  learnt  how  apt  thou  art  to  waver. 

IV. 

I  the  false  light  forswear, 

A  shipwreck'd  mariner, 
Who  hangs  the  painted  stor>'  of  his  suffering 

Aloft  o'er  Xeptune's  shrine  ; 

There  shall  I  hang  up  mine, 
And  of  my  dripping  robes  the  votive  offering  ! 


Quis  multa  gracilis 

Te  puer  in  rosa 
Perfusus  liquidis 
Urget  odoribus 
Grato,  Pyrrha,  sub  antro  ? 
Cui  flavam  religas  comam, 

II. 

Simplex  munditiis  ? 

Heu  !  quoties  fidem 
Mutatosque  Deos 
Flebit,  et  aspera 
Nigris,  cequora  ventis 
Emirabitur  insolens, 

III. 

Qui  nunc  te  fruitur 

Credulus  aurea ; 

Qui  semper  vacuam. 

Semper  amabilem 

Sperat,  nescius  aiu-se 

Fallacis  !  Miseri,  quibus 

IV. 

Intentata  nites  ! 

Me  tabula  sacer 
Voti\-a  paries 
Indicat  uvida 
Suspendisse  potent! 
Vestimenta  maris  Deo. 


The  naval  rencontres  off  Actium,  Lepanto,  and  Trafalgar,  offer  in  European 
histor)'  three  gigantic  "landmarks,"  such  as  no  three  battle-plains  ashore  can 
readily  furnish  :  but  the  very  magnitude  of  each  maritime  event  has  probably 
deterred  shrewd  poets  from  grappling  with  what  they  despaired  to  board  suc- 
cessfully.    Our  Dibdin's  dithyrambic, 

"  'Twos  in  Trafalgar  bay 
We  saw  the  FroKhman  lay"  6r'c., 

as  well  as  the  Venetian  carzelletta, 

''  Caniiavi  tutti  allegravtenie,"  &'c.* 

were,  no  doubt,  good  enough  for  the  watermen  of  the  Thames  and  the  gon- 
doleers  of  the  Gulf.  But  when  the  Roman  admiral  begged  from  Horace  an 
ode,  emblazoning  the  defeat  of  the  combined  fleets  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra, 
it  requiied  much  tact  and  ability  to  eschew  the  perilous  attempt.  The  following 
e<Tort  shows  how  he  got  out  of  the  scrape.  The  only  parallel  instance  of  clever 
avoidance  we  remember,  occurred  when  the  great  Conde  offered  a  thousand 
ducats  for  the  best  poem  on  his  campaign  of  Rocroi.  A  Gascon  carried  the 
prize  by  this  audacious  outburst : 

"  Pour  cel6brer  tant  de  hauts  faits, 

Tant  de  combats,  et  tant  de  gloire, 
Millc  ecus  !     Parbleu  !     Milleecus? 
Ce  n'est  qu'un  sou  par  victoire." 

*  See  "  .Songs  of  Italy,"  apudnos,  p.  238.— O.  Y. 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  391    1 


ODE  VI. 

"  Scriberis  Vario,"  &c. 
I. 

Agrippa  !  seek  a  loftier  bard ;  nor  ask 

Horace  to  twine  in  songs 
The  double  wreath,  due  to  a  victor's  casque 
From  land  and  ocean  :  such  Homeric  task 

To  Varius  belongs. 

II. 

Our  lowly  IjTe  no  fitting  music  hath, 

And  in  despair  dismisses 
The  epic  splendours  of  "Achilles'  wTath," 
Or  the  "  dread  line  of  Pelops,"  or  the  "  path 
Of  billow-borne  Ulysses." 

III. 

The  record  of  the  deeds  at  Actum  wTought 

So  far  transcends  our  talent- 
Vain  were  the  wish  I  wild  the  presumptuous  thought ! 
To  sing  how  Caesar,  how  Agrippa  fought — 

Both  foremost  'mid  the  gallant ! 

IV. 

The  God  of  War  in  adamantine  mail ; 

Meryon,  gaunt  and  grim  ; 
P.^LLAS  in  aid  ;  while  Trov's  battalions  quail. 
Scared  by  the  lance  of  Diomed  .  .  .  must  fail 

To  figure  in  our  hymn, 

V. 

Ours  is  the  banquet  song's  light-hearted  strain, 

Roses  our  only  laurel, 
The  progress  of  a  love-suit  our  campaign. 
Our  only  scars  the  gashes  that  remain 

When  romping  lovers  quarrel. 

Deprecating  the  mania  for  foreign  residences,  NvhicTa  hurried  off  then  ("as  it 
does  now)  estimable  citizens  from  a  far  more  reputable  sojourn  in  their  native 
country  villas,  the  poet  exhorts  Plan'CUS  to  give  up  his  project*  of  retiring 
into  Greece  (from  the  displeasure  of  Augustus;,  to  continue  in  the  service  of 
the  state,  and,  above  all,  to  stick  to  the  bottle. 

ODE  VII.— TO   MUNATIUS   PLANCUS. 

"  Laudabunt  alii  claram  Rhodon.* 


Rhodes,  Ephesus,  or  Mitv'lene, 

Or  Thessalv's  fair  \'alley. 
Or  Corinth,  placed  two  gulfs  atween, 
Delphi,  or  Thebes,  suggest  the  scene 

\\"liere  some  would  choose  to  dally; 
Others  in  praise  of  Athens  launch. 

And  poets  IjtIc 
Grace,  with  Minerva's  olive-branch 
Their  panegj'ric. 


392  The    Works  of  Father  Front. 


II. 

To  J  I"  no's  city  some  would  roam — 

Argos — of  steeds  productive  ; 
In  rich  MvcEN.'E  make  their  home. 
Or  find  Larissa  pleasantsome, 
Or  Sparta  deem  seductive  ; 
Me  Tibl'r's  grove  charms  more  than  all 

The  brook's  bright  bosom. 
And  o'er  loud  Anio's  waterfall 
Fruit-trees  in  blossom. 


III. 

Pl ANGUS  !  do  blasts  for  ever  sweep 

Athwart  the  welkin  rancoured? 
Friend  I  do  the  clouds  for  ever  weep? — 
Then  cheer  thee  I  and  thy  sorrows  deep 

Drown  in  a  flowing  tankard  : 
Whether  ' '  the  camp  !  the  field  !  the  sword  ! 

Be  still  thy  motto, 
Or  Tibur  to  thy  choice  afford 
A  sheltered  grotto. 


IV. 

When  Teucer  from  his  father's  frown 

For  exile  parted, 
Wreathing  his  brow  with  poplar  crown. 
In  wine  he  bade  his  comrades  drown 

Their  woes  light-hearted  ; 
And  thus  he  cried,  Whate'er  betide, 

Hope  shall  not  leave  me  : 
The  home  a  father  hath  denied 
Let  Fortune  give  me  ! 


V. 

^Vho  doubts  or  dreads  if  Teucer  lead  ? 

Hath  not  Apollo 
A  new-found  Sa/avn's  decreed. 
Old  Fatherland  shall  supersede  ? 

Then  fearless  follow. 
^  e  who  could  bear  ten  years  your  share 

Of  toil  and  slaughter, 
Drink  !  for  our  sail  to-morrow's  gale 
Wafts  o'er  the  water. 

The  old  tune  of  "  Peas  upon  a  trencher"  has  been  adapted  to  "  The  time 
I've  lost  in  wooing,"  by  Tom  Moore,  Mr.  Cazales,  oi  \\iq^  AssanbUc Nationale, 
has  given  a  French  version  of  the  immortal  original.     Ex.  gr.  : 

"  Gar<;on,  apportez  moi,  moi, 

Des  pois,  des  petits  pois,  pois : 
Ah.  quel  plaisir  !  quand  je  les  vois 
Sur  I'assiette  de  bois,  bois,"  &c.  &c 

I  hope  there  is  no  profanation  in  arranging  an  ode  of  Horace  to  the  same 
fascinating  tune. — The  diary  of  a  Roman  man  of  fashion  can  be  easily  made 
up  from  the  elements  of  daily  occupation,  supplied  by  the  following  : 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


393 


ODE  VIII. 

"  Lydia,  die  per  omnes,"  &c. 


I. 


Enchanting  Lydia  !  prithee, 

By  all  the  gods  that  see  thee, 
Pray  tell  me  this  :  Must  Sybaris 

Perish,  enamour'd  with  thee  ? 

Lo  I  wrapt  as  in  a  trance,  he 

Whose  hardy  youth  could  fancy 
Each  manly  feat,  dreads  dust  and  heat. 

All  through  thy  necromancy  ! 

II. 

Why  rides  he  never,  tell  us, 

Accoutred  like  his  fellows. 
For  curb  and  whip,  and  horsemanship, 

And  martial  bearing  zealous? 

Why  hangs  he  back,  demurrent 

To  breast  the  Tiber's  current. 
From  wrestlers'  oil,  as  from  the  coil 

Of  poisonous  snake,  abhorrent  ? 

III. 

No  more  with  iron  rigour 

Rude  armour-marks  disfigure 
His  pliant  limbs  ;  but  languor  dims 

His  eye  and  wastes  his  vigour. 

Gone  is  the  youth's  ambition 

To  give  the  lance  emission, 
Or  hurl  adroit  the  circling  quoit 

In  gallant  competition. 

IV. 

And  his  embower 'd  retreat  is 

Like  where  the  Son  of  Thetis 
Lurk'd  undivulg'd,  while  he  indulged 

A  mother's  soft  entreaties, 

Robed  as  a  Grecian  girl, 

Lest  soldier-like  apparel 
Might  raise  a  flame,  and  his  kindling  frame 

Through  the  ranks  of  slaughter  whirl. 


Lydia,  die  per  omnes 
Te  Deos  oro, 

SVB.\RIM 

Cur  properas  amando, 

Perdere  ?  cur  apricum 

Oderit  campum, 

Patiens 

Pulveris  atque  Solis  ? 

II. 

Cur  neque  militaris 

Inter  aequales 
Equitat  ? 
Gallica  nee  lupatis 
Temperat  ora  fraenis  ? 

Cur  timet  flavum 

TiBERIM 

Tangere  ?  cur  olivimi. 

III. 

Sanguine  viperino 
Cautius  vitat? 
Neque  jam 
Livida  gestat  armis 
Brachia,  ssepe  disco, 
Saepe  trans  finem 
Jaculo 
Nobilis  expedito? 

IV 
Quid  latet,  ut  marinjB 
Filium  dicunt 
Thetidis, 
Sub  lachrymosa  Trojae 
Funera,  ne  virilis 
Cultus  in  caedem,  et 

LVCIAS 

Proriperet  cater\'as. 


\ 

I 


To  relish  the  ninth  ode,  the  reader  must  figure  to  himself  the  hunting-box 
of  a  young  Roman,  some  miles  from  Rome,  with  a  distant  view  of  the  Medi- 
terranean in  front ;  Mount  Soracte  far  off  on  the  right ;  a  tall  cypress  grove 
on  the  left,  backed  by  the  ridge  of  Apennines. 

ODE   IX. 

"Vides  ut  alta  stet  nive  candidum 
Soracte,"  &c. 


VERSIO   PROUTICA. 

I. 

See  how  the  winter  blanches 
Soracte's  giant  brow  ! 

Hear  how  the  forest  branches 
Groan  for  the  weight  of  snow 

While  the  fix'd  ice  impanels 

Rivers  within  their  channels. 


TRADUTTA   DAL   GARGALLO. 
I. 

Vedi  tu  di  neve  in  copia 
II  S ora  tie  omai  canuto 

Vedi  come  crollan  gli  alberi 
Sotto  al  peso  ;  e  '1  gelo  acuto 

Come  ai  fiumi  tra  le  sponde 

Fa  indurar  le  liquid  onde. 


394 


The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


II. 

Out  with  the  frost !  expel  her  ! 

Pile  up  the  fuel-block. 
And  from  thy  hoary  cellar 

Produce  a  Sabine  crock  : 
O  Thaliarck  !  remember 
It  count  a  fourth  December. 


II. 

Sciogli  '1  freddo  con  man  prodiga 
Rifornendo,  O  Taliarco  ! 

Legni  al  foco  ;  e  piu  del  solito 
A  bpillar  non  esser  parco 

Da  orecchiuto  orcio  Sabino, 

Di  quattr'  anni  '1  pretto  vino. 


III. 

Give  to  the  gods  the  guidance  _ 
Of  earth's  arrangements.      List  \ 

The  blasts  at  their  high  biddance 
From  the  ve.x'd  deep  desist, 

Nor  'mid  the  cypress  riot  ; 

And  the  old  elms  are  quiet. 


III. 

Sien  del  resto  i  numi  gll  arbitrf 
C  ove  avran  d'  Austro  e  di  Borea 

Abattuto  il  fervid  impeto 
Per  la  vasta  arena  equorea 

Ne  i  cipressi  urto  nemico 

Scuotera,  ne  1'  orno  antico. 


IV. 

Enjoy,  without  foreboding. 

Life  as  the  moments  run  ; 
Away  with  Care  corroding. 

Youth  of  my  soul  !  nor  shun 
Love,  for  whose  smile  thou'rt  suited  ; 
And  'mid  the  dancers  foot  it. 


IV. 

Cio  indagar  fuggi  sollecito 
Che  avvenir  doman  dovra  ; 

Guigni  a  lucro  il  di  che  reduce 
La  Fortuna  a  te  dark 

Ne  sprezzar  ne'  tuoi  fresc'  anni 

Le  Carole  e  dolci  atfanni. 


While  youth's  hour  lasts,  beguile  it ; 

Follow  the  field,  the  camp. 
Each  manly  sport,  till  twilight 

Brings  on  the  vesper-lamp  ; 
Then  let  thy  loved  one  lisp  her 
Fond  feelings  in  a  whisper. 


Sin  che  lunga  da  te  vegeto 
Sta  canuta  eta  importuna 

Campi  e  piazze  ti  riveggano  ; 
E  fidele  quando  imbruna 

T'  abbia  1'  ora  che  ti  appella 

A  ronzar  con  la  tua  bella. 


VI. 

Or  in  a  nook  hide  furtive. 
Till  by  her  laugh  betray 'd. 

And  drawn,  v.'ith  struggle  sportive. 
Forth  from  her  ambuscade  ; 

Bracelet  or  ring  th'  offender 

In  forfeit  sweet  surrender  ! 


VI. 

Or  e  caro  quel  sorridere 
Scopritor  delia  fanciulla 

Che  in  un  angolo  internandosi 
A  celarsi  si  trastulla 

Ed  al  finto  suo  ritegno 

Trar  d'  armilla  o  anello  il  pegno. 


The  subsequent  morceau  is  not  given  in  the  usual  printed  editions  of  or.r 
poet ;  even  the  MSS.  omit  it,  except  the  "  Vatican  Codex."  I  myself  ha\e  no 
hesitation  as  to  its  genuineness,  though  Burns  has  saved  me  the  trouble  of 
translation. 


ODE   X. 

"  Virent  arundines." — '"  Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  !  " 


I. 

There's  naught  but  care  on  every  han'. 

In  every  hour  that  passes,  O  ! 
What  signifies  the  life  of  man, 
An'  'tivere  not  for  the  la'^ses,  O  ! 
Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 
The  ssveetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spent, 
Were  spent  amang  the  lasses,  O  ! 


I. 

Curae  corrodunt  L^rbem,  Rus, 

Et  sapientiim  cellulas, 
Nee  vita  vellem  frui  plus 
Ni  foret  ob  puellulas — 
Virent  arundine;  ! 
At  me  tenellulas 
Taedet  hornr.'.m  nisi  queis 
Inter  fui  puellulas  I 


TJie  Songs  of  Horace. 


395 


II. 

The  warly  race  may  riches  chase, 

And  riches  still  may  flee  thee,  O  ! 
And  when  ai  last  they  catch  them  fast, 
Their  hearts  can  ne'er  enjoy  them,  O  ! 
Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spent. 
Were  spent  amang  the  lasses,  O  ! 


II. 

Divitias  avaro  dem, 

Insudet  auri  cumulo. 
Quadrat  quocumque  modo  rem, 
Inops  abibit  tumulo. 

Virent  arundines  ! 
At  me  tenellulas 
Taedet  horarum  nisi  queis 
Inter  fui  puellulas ! 


III. 

Give  me  a  canny  liou;-  at  e'en, 

I\Iy  arms  about  my  deary,  O  ! 

Then  warly  cares  and  warly  men 

May  all  gang  tapsalteerj',  O  ! 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spent. 
Were  spent  amang  the  lasses,  O  ! 

IV. 

For  ye  sae  douce  ye  sneer  at  this, 

Ye're  naught  but  senseless  asses,  O  ! 
The  v.'isest  man  the  warld  e'er  saw, 
He  dearly  loved  the  lasses,  O  ! 

Green  grow  the  rasnes,  O  ! 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spent. 
Were  spent  amang  the  lasses,  O  ! 

V. 

Dame  Nature  swears  the  lovely  dears 

Her  noblest  wark  she  classes,  O  ! 

Her  prentice  han'  she  tried  on  man. 

And  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O  ! 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  O  ! 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spent, 
Were  spent  amang  the  lasses,  O  ! 


III. 

Cum  Sol  obscurat  spicula, 

Mi  brachio  tunc  niveo, 
Stringente,  fit,  amicula, 
Rerum  dulcis  oblivio  ! 

Virent  arundines  ! 
At  me  tenellulas 
Taedet  horarum  nisi  queis 
Inter  fui  puellulas  ! 

IV. 

Num  dices  contra?  canum  grex  ! 

An  fuit  vir  sagacior 
Quam  Solomon  ?  aut  unquam  re.x 
In  virgines  salacior  ? 

Virent  arundines  ! 
At  me  tenellulas 
Taedet  horarum  nisi  queis 
Inter  fui  puellulas ! 

V. 

Quas  cum  de  terrae  vasculo 

Natura  finxit  bellulas, 
Tentavit  manum  masculo 
Formavit  tunc  puellulas- 
Virent  arundine? 

At  me  tenellula«;,_ 
Taedet  horarum  nisi  queis 
Inter  fui  puellulas  ! 


396 


TJic  Works  of  Father  Front. 


XXII. 

{Fraser's  Magazine,  August,  1836.) 


[The  number  of  Regina  containing  Prout's  second  decanting  from  Horace  was  doubly 
remarkable.  It  comprised  Maclise's  etching  of  Sir  John  Soane,  and  yet  more  notably 
Maginn's  hideously  scurrilous  review  of  "  Berkeley  Castle,"  a  historical  romance  in  three 
volumes,  by  the  Hon.  Grantley  Berkeley,  M.P.  Turning  to  an  examination  of  that 
review  now  in  cold  blood,  it  seems  almost  by  necessity  to  have  involved  the  application 
of  a  horsewhip  to  somebody's  shoulders,  even  though  they  had  been  as  pachydermatous 
as  those  of  the  figurehead  battered  by  Quilp  down  at  his  wharf  on  the  Thames.  It  is  a 
satisfaction  at  least  to  feel  absolutely  certain  of  this,  that  no  organ  of  polite  literature 
would  ever  dream  now-a-days  of  indulging  in  any  such  brutal  personalities. 


Decade  the  Second. 

"  Horatium  In  quibusdam  nolim  interpretari." 

QuiNCTiLiANi  Instit.  Or.,\.  8. 
"  The  lyrical  part  of  Horace  can  never  be  perfectly  translated." 

Sam.  Johnson  aptid  Boswell,  vol.  vii.  p.  219. 
"  Horacio  es  de  todos  los  poetas  latinos  el  mas  dificil  de  manejar." 

Don  Javier  de  Burgos,  p.  11.     Madrid,  1820. 
"  Horace  crochette  et  furette  tout  le  magasin  des  mots." 

MoNT.MGNE,  Essais. 
"Prout's  translations  from  Horace  are  X.00 free  and  easy." 

AthencEum,  9th  July,  1836. 
Iletpao-o/iai  Xtyeti;,  Q  ANAPES  A9HNAI0I,  5s»)0£is  uyutuv  TocrauTOj/,  tirii- 
cav  iravTa  a/coucrj)T£  KpivaTi,  nai,  /x»j  Trporapov  'rrpoXafifiaviTt. 

DEMOST.,   ^iXlTT.  lipuiT. 

The  sage  Montaigne,  a  grave  Castilian, 

Old  Dr.  Johnson,  and  Quinctilian, 

Would  say,  a  task,  by  no  means  facile, 

Had  fallen  to  him  of  W.atekgrasshill. 

May  he,  then,  claim  indulgence  for  his. 

Kenew'd  attempt  to  render  Horace?  .  .  . 

As  for  your  critic  o'  th'  Asintrum, 

We  (Yokke),  unrancour'd,  hope  to  see  him 

Srnoking  yet  many  a  pipe,  an't  please  ye, 

With  us  at  old  Prout  s  "  free  and  easy." — O.  Y. 

It  is  fully  admitted,   at  this  time  of  day,  that  endurable  translations,  in  any 
modern  idiom,  of  the  Greek  and  Romania//  d' opera,  are  lamentably  few.   But 


if  there  be  a  paucity  of  successful  attempts  in  prose,  it  must  not  surprise  us 
that  the  candidates  for  renown  in  the  poetical  department  should  be  still  less 
fortunate  in  the  efforts  they  have  made  to  climb  the  sacred  hill,  by  catchin'^  at 
the  skirts  of  some  classic  songster.  The  established  and  canonized  author's  of 
antiquity  seem  to  view  with  no  favourable  eye  these  surreptitious  endeavours  to 
get  at  the  summit-level  of  their  glorious  pre-eminence,  and  Horace  in  particular 
(as  Mawworm,  or  Mathews,  would  say)  has  positively  resolved  on  "wearhx^ 
a  Spenser."  To  the  luckless  and  presumptuous  wight  who  would  fain  follow 
him,  in  the  hopes  of  catching  at  a  fold  of  his  impracticable  jacket,  he  turns 
round  and  addresses,  in  his  own  peculiar  Latin,  the  maxim  which  we  will  con- 
tent ourselves  with  giving  in  the  French  of  Voltaire  : 

"  Le  nombre  des  elus  ait  Parnasse  est  complet  !  " 

"The  places  are  all  taken,  on  the  double-peaked  mountain  of  Greek  and 
Roman  poesy  the  mansions  are  all  tenanted ;  the  classic  Pegasus  won't  carry 
double  ;  there  is  not  the  slightest  chance  here  :  go  elsewliere,  friend,  and  seek 
out  in  the  regions  of  the  north  a  Parnassus  of  your  own." 

Whereupon  we  arc  reminded  of  an  anecdote  of  the  Irish  Rebellion  of  1798, 
when  the  German  horse-auxiliaries  were  routed  at  Ballynacoppul,  in  the  county 
Wexford,  by  the  bare-footed  heroes  of  the  pike  and  pitchfork.  A  victorious 
Patlander  was  busily  engaged  in  a  field  pulling  off  the  boots  from  a  dead 
trooper,  when  another  repealer,  coming  up,  suggested  the  propriety  of  dividing 
the  spoil — half-a-pair  being,  in  his  opinion,  a  reasonable  allowance  for  both. 
"Why,  then,  neighbour,"  quietly  obser\-ed  the  operator  in  reply,  "can't  you 
be  aisy,  and  go  and  kill  a  Hessmn/or youfsel/f"  By  what  process  of  induction 
this  story  occurred  to  us  just  now  we  cannot  imagine  ;  apropos  des  bottes,  most 
probably. 

Certain  it  is  that,  to  succeed,  a  translation  must  possess  more  or  less  intrinsic 
originality.  Among  us,  Pope's  Homer  is,  beyond  all  comparison,  the  most 
successful  performance  of  its  kind  ;  not  that  it  textually  reproduces  the  "  Iliad" 
— a  task  far  more  accurately  accomplished  by  the  maniac  Cowper,  in  his  unread- 
able version  — but  because  the  richly  endowed  mind  of  Pope  himself  pours  out 
its  own  opulence  in  every  line,  and  works  the  mineral  ores  of  Greece  with  the 
abundant  resources  of  English  capital. 

Drj-den's  forcible  and  vigorous,  but  more  frequently  rollicking  and  titubant, 
progress  through  the  "^neid,"  may  awhile  arrest  the  attention;  nay,  ever  and 
anon  some  bold  passage  will  excite  our  wonder,  at  the  felicitous  hardihood 
of  "glorious  John;"  but  it  would  be  as  wrong  to  call  it  Virgil,  as  to 
take  the  slapdash  plungings  of  a  "wild-goose  at  play"  for  the  graceful  and 
majestic  motion  of  the  Swan  of  Mantua  gliding  on  the  smooth  surface  of  his 
native  Mincio,  under  a  luxuriant  canopy  of  reeds.  The  Tacitus  of  Arthur 
Murphy  is  wc^' the  terse,  significant,  condensed,  and  deep-searching  contemporary 
of  Phny ;  no  one  would  feel  more  puzzled  than  the  Roman  to  recognize  his 
own  semi-oracular  style  in  the  sonorous  phraseology,  the  ^//(7j-2-Gibbonian 
period,  the  "long  impedimented  march  of  oratorio  pomp"  with  which  the 
Cork  man  has  encumbered  him.  And  yet  Murphy  tacitly  passes  for  a  fit 
English  representative  of  the  acute  annalist,  the  scientific  analyzer  of 
imperial  Rome.  Our  Junius  alone  could  have  done  justice  to  the  iron  Latinity 
of  Tacitus.  To  translate  the  letters  of  old  "  Nomiyiis  mnbra  "  into  French  or 
Italian,  would  be  as  hopeless  an  experiment  as  to  try  and  anglicize  the 
naif  Lafontaine,  or  make  Metastasio  talk  his  soft  nonsense  through  the 
medium  of  our  rugged  gutturals.  Plutarch  was  lucky  enough  to  have  found 
long  ago,  among  the  French,  a  kindred  mind  in  old  Amyot  :  the  only  draw- 
back to  which  good  fortune  is,  that  your  modem  Gaul  requires  somebody 
to  translate  the  translator.     Abbe  Delille  has  enriched  his  country  with  an 


398 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


admirable  version  of  the  "  Georgics;  "  but  the  same  ornamental  touches  which 
he  used  so  successfully  in  embellishing  Virgil,  have  rendered  his  translation 
of  our  Milton  a  model  of  absurdity. 

No  one  reads  ' '  Ossian  ''  no\v-a-days  in  England ;  his  poems  lie  neglected 
among  us — "  desolate  "  as  the  very  "  walls  of  Balclutha  :"  yet  in  Italy,  thanks 
to  Cesarotti,  "  Fingal "  still  brandishes  his  spear  "  like  an  icicle,"  and  the  stars 
continue  "  dimly  to  twinkle  throttgh  thy  form,  ghost  of  the  gallant  Oscar  !  " 
The  affair  presents,  in  truth,  a  far  more  ornate  and  elaborate  specimen  of  the 
bombast  in  the  toscana  fardla  than  it  doth  in  the  original  Macphersonic  ;  and 
Buonaparte,  who  confessedly  modelled  the  style  of  his  "proclamations"  on 
the  speeches  of  these  mad  Highlanders,  derived  all  his  phil-Ossianism  from  the 
work  of  Cesarotti.  Of  the  "Paradise  Lost"  there  happen  to  be  a  couple  of 
excellent  Italian  versions  (with  the  author  of  one,  the  exiled  Guido  Sorelli, 
we  now  and  then  crack  a  bottle  at  Offley's) ;  and  "  I'Eneide  "  of  Annibal  Caro 
is  nearly  unexceptionable.  Rabelais  has  met,  in  our  Sir  Thomas  Urquhart, 
a  congenial  spirit;  but  Don  Quixote  has  never  been  enabled  to  cross  the 
Pyrenees,  much  less  the  ocean-boundaries  of  the  peninsula.  Nevertheless, 
it  must  be  admitted  that  Westminster  has  lately  sent,  in  Evans,  a  rival  of 
the  woful  knight's  chivalry  to  St.  Sebastian.  To  return  to  the  classics  :  when 
we  have  named  Dr.  Gifford's  "Juvenal,"  with  the  praiseworthy  labours  of 
Sotheby  and  Chapman,  we  think  we  have  exhausted  the  subject ;  for  it 
requires  no  conjurer  to  tell  us  that  lorn  Moore's  "  Anacreon  "  is  sad  rubbish, 
and  that,  in  hundreds  of  similar  cases,  the  traduttorc  differs  from  a  traditore 
only  by  a  syllable. 

On  the  theory,  as  well  as  the  practice  of  translation,  old  Prout  seems  to  have 
bestowed  considerable  attention  ;  though  it  would  appear,  at  first,  somewhat 
strange  that  so  eccentric  and  self-opinionated  a  genius  as  he  evidently  pos- 
sessed could  stoop  to  the  common  drudgery  of  merely  transferring  the 
thoughits  of  another  man  from  one  idiom  into  a  second  or  third — nay,  occa- 
sionally, a  fourth  (as  in  tne  case  of  "  Les  Bois  de  Blarney"),  instead  of  pouring 
out  on  the  world  his  own  ideas  in  a  copious  flood  of  original  composition. 
\\'hy  did  he  not  indite  a  "poem"  of  his  own?  write  a  treatise  on  political 
economy?  figure  as  a  natural  theologian?  turn  history  into  romance  for  the 
ladies?  or  into  an  old  almanack  for  the  Whigs?  We  believe  the  matter 
has  been  already  explained  by  us  ;  but,  lest  there  should  be  any  mistake,  we 
do  not  care  how  often  we  repeat  the  Father's  favourite  assertion,  that,  in  these 
latter  days,  "originality  there  can  be  none."  The  thing  is  not  to  be 
had.  Disguise  thyself  as  thou  wilt.  Plagiarism  !  thou  art  still  perceptible  to 
the  eye  of  the  true  bookworm  ;  and  the  silent  process  of  reproduction  in  the 
world  of  ideas   is  not   more  demonstrable  to  the  scientific  inquirer  than  tiie 

j    progressive  metempsychosis  of  matter  itself,  through  all  its  variform  molecules. 
As  Horace  has  it  : 

\ 

"Multa  renascuntur  quse  jam  cecidere." 

Ef.  ad  Pi  son.,  70. 

Or,  to  quote  the  more  direct  evidence  of  honest  old  Chaucer,  who  discovered 
the  incontrovertible  fact  at  the  very  peep-o'-day  of  modern  literature  : 

.  .   .  ."  Out  of  olde  feldies,  as  man  saieth, 

Comith  all  this  newe  corne  from  yere  to  yearn  ; 

And  out  of  olde  bokis,  in  good  faithe, 

Comith  all  this  newe  science  that  menne  learn." 

Scarce  is  an  ancient  wi-iter  sunk  into  oblivion,  or  his  works  withdrawn  from 
general  perusal,  when  some  literary  Beau  Tibbs  starts  upon  town  witli  the 
identical  cast-off  intellectual  wardrobe,  albeit  properly  "  refreshed  "  so  as  to 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


399 


puzzle  any  mortal  eye,  save  that  of  a  regularly  educated  Jew  old-clothesman. 
Addison  has  hinted,  somewhat  obscurely,  his  belief  in  the  practice  here 
described,  when  (recording  his  judgment  allegorically)  he  says — 

"  Soon  as  the  shades  of  night  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale." 

Would  any  one  wish  to  see  this  truth  further  developed,  let  him  purchase  a 
book  called  "The  Wondrous  Tale  of  Alroy,"  by  Benjamin  DisraeU  the  Younger  ; 
of  which,  no  doubt,  a  few  copies  remain  on  hand. 

So  long  ago  as  the  seventy-second  Olympiad,  an  ingenious  writer  of  Greek 
songs  had  already  intimated  his  knowledge  of  these  goings-on  in  the  literary 
circles,  and  of  the  brain-sucking  system  generally,  when  he  most  truly  (though 
enigmatically)  represents  the  "black  earth"  drinking  the  rain-water,  the  trees 
pumping  up  the  moisture  of  the  soil,  the  sun  inhaling  the  ocean  vapours  and 
vegetable  juices,  the  moon  living  equally  on  suction — 

O  6'  ijXios  6a\aTTay 
Toy  6'j/Xtoi/  o-£\j;i/)j" 

and  so  on,  through  a  long  series  of  compotations  and  mutual  hobnobbings,  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter.     Most  modern  readers  are  satisfied  with  moonshine. 

Prout  had  too  high  a  sense  of  honesty  to  affect  original  writing  ;  hence  he 
openly  gave  himself  out  as  a  simple  translator.  ''  Non  mens  hie  seryno"  was 
his  constant  avowal,  and  he  sincerely  pitied  the  numerous  pretenders  to  inven- 
tive genius  with  whom  the  times  abound.  Smitten  with  the  love  of  antique 
excellence,  and  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  classic  beauty,  he  turned  with 
disdain  from  books  of  minor  attraction,  and  had  no  relish  save  for  the  ever- 
enduring  perfections  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  muse.  He  delighted  in  trans- 
ferring these  ancient  thoughts  to  a  modern  vocabulary,  and  found  solace  and 
enjoyment  in  the  renewed  repercussion  of  remote  and  bygone  "  old  familiar" 
sounds. 

There  is  not,  in  the  whole  range  of  pagan  mythology,  a  more  graceful 
impersonation  than  that  of  the  nymph  Echo— the  disconsolate  maiden,  who 
pined  away  until  nothing  remained  but  the  faculty  of  giving  back  the  voice  of 
her  beloved.  To  the  veteran  enthusiast  of  Watergrasshill,  little  else  was  left 
in  the  decline  of  his  age  but  a  corresponding  tendency  to  translate  wliat  in  his 
youth  he  had  admired  ;  though  it  must  be  added,  that  his  echoes  were  some- 
times like  the  one  at  Killarney,  which,  if  asked,  ''How  do  you  do,  Paddy 
Blake  9"  will  answer,  "  Pretty  well,  I  thank  you  !" 

OLIVER  YORKE. 

Regent  Street,  July  261/1. 


Watergrasshill,  half-past  eleveit. 

In  the  natural  progress  of  things,  and  following  the  strict  order  of  succes- 
sion, I  alight  on  the  tenth  ode  of  book  the  first,  whereof  the  title  is  "Ad 
Mercurium."  This  personage,  called  by  the  Greeks  Hermes,  or  the  "inter- 
preter," deserves  particular  notice  at  my  hands  in  this  place  ;  forasmuch  as, 
among  the  crowd  of  attributes  ascribed  to  him  by  pagan  divines,  and  the  vast 
multiplicity  of  occupations  to  which  he  is  represented  as  giving  his  attention 
(such  as  performing  heavenly  messages,  teaching  eloquence,  guiding  ghosts, 
presiding  over  highways,  patronizing  commerce  and  robbers),  he  originated, 
and  may  be  supposed  to  preserve  a  lingering  regard  for,  the  art  of  translatmi. 
Conveyancing  is  a  science  divisible  into  many  departments,  over  all  which  his 
influence,  no  doubt,  extends  :  nor  is  it  the  least  troublesome  province  of  all 


40O 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


aptly  to  convey  the  meaning  of  a  difficult  writer.  With  Orpheus,  then,  may 
it  be  allowable  to  address  him  on  the  threshold  of  a  task  like  mine — 

K\i/0i  nov  Epfxfia,  Aios  ayyiXs,  k.  t.  \. 

Indeed,  Dean  Swift,  in  his  advice  to  poets,  seems  to  be  fully  aware  of  the 
importance  to  be  attached  to  the  assistance  of  so  useful  and  multiform  an 
agent,  v/hen  he  knowingly  penned  the  following  recipe  for  "  the  machinery"  of 
an  epic  : — 

"  Take  of  deities,  male  and  female,  as  many  as  you  can  use  ;  separate  them 
into  two  equal  parts,  and  keep  Jupiter  in  the  middle  :  let  Juno  set  him  in  a 
ferment  and  Venus  mollify  him.  Remember,  on  all  occasions,  to  make  use  of 
VOLATILE  Mercury." 

The  quantity  of  business  necessarily  transacted  by  him  in  his  innumerable 
capacities,  has  furnished  that  profane  scoffer  at  all  established  creeds,  LuciAX, 
with  matter  of  considerable  merriment ;  he  going  so  far,  in  one  of  his  dialogues, 
as  to  hint,  that,  though  young  in  appearance  (according  to  what  sculpture  and 
painting  have  made  of  his  outward  semblance),  he  must  fain  be  as  old  as 
Japhet  in  malice.  This  degenerate  Greek  would  seem  to  look  on  the  god  of 
wit,  eloquence,  commerce,  and  diplomacy,  as  a  sort  of  pagan  compound  of 
Figaro,  Rothschild,  Dick  Turpin,  and  I'alleyrand.  It  would  be  naturally 
expected  that  our  neighbours,  the  French,  should  have  evinced,  from  the 
earliest  times,  an  instinctive  partiality  for  so  lively  an  impersonation  of  their 
own  endemic  peculiarities  ;  and  we  therefore  feel  no  surprise  in  finding  that 
fact  recorded  by  a  holy  Father  of  the  second  century  {Tertidlian  adversus 
Gnostic,  cap.  vii.),  the  same  observation  occurring  to  Caesar  in  his  "  Commen- 
taries," viz.  "  Gain  deum  maxime  Mercuriian  colunt"  (lib.  iv.).  HUET,  the 
illustrious  bishop  of  Avranches,  has  brought  considerable  ability  to  the  identi- 
fication of  Mercury,  or  Hermes  Ttismegistiis,  with  the  Hebrew  shepherd 
Moses  ;  and  this,  I  confess,  has  been  my  own  system,  long  ago  adopted  by 
me  on  the  perusal  of  Father  Kircher's  "  CEdipus." 

The  twisted  serpents  round  his  magical  rod  are  but  slight  indications  of  his 
connection  with  Egypt,  compared  to  the  coincidences  which  might  be  alleged 
were  it  advisable  to  enter  on  the  inquiry  ;  and  I  merely  allude  to  it  here 
because  Horace  himself  thinks  proper,  in  the  following  ode,  to  call  his  celes- 
tial patron  a  "  nephew  of  Mount  Atlas  :"  setting  thus  at  rest  the  question  of 
his  African  pedigree.  This  odd  expression  has  been  re-echoed  by  an  Italian 
poet  of  celebrity  in  some  sonorous  lines  : 

"Scendea  talor  degli  inaurati  scanni 
E  risaliva  alle  stellanti  rote, 
Araldo  dagli  Dei  battendo  i  vanni 
D'Atlante  il  facondissimo  nipote." 

We  are  told  by  Apollodorus  how  the  god,  walking  one  day  on  the  banks  of 
the  Nile,  after  the  annual  inundation  had  ceased,  and  the  river  had  fallen  back 
into  its  accustomed  channel,  found  a  dead  tortoise  lying  on  its  back,  all  the 
fleshy  parts  of  which  had  been  dried  up  by  the  action  of  the  sun's  rays,  so 
intensely  powerful  in  Egypt  :  but  a  few  of  the  tougher  fibres  remained ;  upon 
touching  which,  the  light-fingered  deity  found  them  to  emit  an  agreeable  tone. 
Forthwith  was  conceived  in  his  inventive  brain  the  idea  of  a  lute.  Thus,  the 
laws  of  gravitation  are  reported  to  have  suggested  themselves  to  Newton,  while 
pondering  in  his  orchard  of  an  afternoon,  on  seeing  a  ripe  apple  fall  from  its 
parent  branch.  The  Corinthian  capital  was  the  result  of  a  Greek  girl  having 
left  her  clothes-basket,  covered  over  with  a  tile,  on  a  plant  of  acanthus.  The 
.STKAM-E.NGiNE  Originated  in  observmg  tlie  motion  of  the  lid  on  a  barber's 
kettle.      Whatever  gracefulness  and  beauty  may  be  found  in  the  three  first 


The  Sojigs  of  Horace. 


401 


statements  (and,  surely,  they  are  highly  calculated  to  charm  the  fancy),  the  last, 
I  fear  (though  leading  to  far  more  important  consequences  than  all  the  rest), 
offers  but  a  meagre  subject  for  painting  or  poetry. 

The  Latin  name  of  Mercury  is  derived,  according  to  a  tradition  religiously 
preserved  among  those  hereditarj^  guardians  of  primitive  ignorance,  the  school- 
masters, from  the  word  incrx,  merchandise.  I  beg  leave  to  submit  (and  I  am 
borne  out  by  an  old  MS.  in  the  Kings  Library,  Paris,  marked  B.  $.),  that, 
though  the  name  of  commercial  commodities  may  have  been  aptly  taken  from 
the  god  supposed  to  preside  over  their  prosperous  interchange,'  he  himself 
was  so  called  from  his  functions  of  messenger  between  earth  and  heaven,  quasi 
MEDius  CURRENS  ;  an  origin  of  far  higher  import,  and  an  allusion  to  far  more 
sacred  doctrines,  than  are  to  be  gathered  from  the  ordinary  ravings  of  pagan 
theology. 

Among  the  Greeks,  he  rejoiced  in  the  equally  significant  title  of  Hermes,  or, 
the  "  expounder  of  hidden  things."  And,  for  all  the  purposes  of  life,  it  would 
appear  that  he  was  as  constantly  put  in  requisition  by  his  classic  devotees  of 
old,  as  St.  Antonio  of  Padua  is  at  the  present  day  among  the  vctturhii,  and 
the  vulgar  generally  throughout  Italy.  It  is,  however,  a  somewhat  strange 
contradiction  in  the  Greek  system  of  divinity,  that  the  god  of  locomotion  and 
rapidity  should  also  be  the  protector  of  fixtures,  milestones,  landmarks, 
monumental  erections,  and  of  matters  conveying  the  idea  of  permanence  and 
stability.  The  well-known  signet  of  Erasmus,  which  gave  rise  to  sundry 
malicious  imputations  against  that  eminent  priest,  was  a  statue  of  the  god  in 
the  shape  of  a  terminus,  with  the  motto,  "  cedo  nulli  ; '"  and  every  one 
knows  what  odium  attached  itself  to  the  youth  Alcibiades,  when,  in  a  mad 
frolic,  he  removed  certain  figures  of  this  description,  during  a  night  of  jollity, 
in  the  streets  of  Athens.  The  author  of  the  Book  of  Proverbs  gives  a  caution, 
which  it  were  well  for  modern  destructives  were  they  to  take  to  themselves, 
entering  into  the  spirit  that  dictated  that  most  sensible  admonition  (Prov.  xxii. 
28,  "  Remove  not  the  ancient  landmarks  which  thy  fathers  have  set  : "  "  .AV 
transgrcdiaris  tcrminos  antiquos  quos posucrunt patres  tui." — Id.   Vulgate. 


ODE  X.— HYMN   TO   MERCURY. 


"^MERCfRi  facunde  Nepos  Atlanti; 


I. 


Persuasive  Hermes  I  Afric's  son  ! 
Who — scarce  had  human  life  begun — 
Amid  our  rude  forefathers  shone 

With  arts  instructive. 
And  man  to  new  refinement  won 

With  grace  seductive. 

II. 

Herald  of  Jove,  and  of  his  court. 
The  IjTc's  inventor  and  support. 
Genius  !  that  can  at  will  resort 

To  glorious  cunning  ; 
Both  gods  and  men  in  furtive  sport 

And  wit  outrunning ! 

III. 

YoL",  when  a  child  the  woods  amid, 
Apollo's  kine  drew  off  and  hid  ; 
And  when  the  god  with  menace  bid 

The  spoil  deliver, 
Forced  him  to  smile — for,  while  he  chid. 

You  stole  his  quiver  ! 


Mercuri,  facunde  nepos  Atlantis, 
Qui  feros  cultus  hominum  recentum 
\  oce  formasti  cat  us,  et  decorae. 
More  palaestrae  ! 


II. 

Te  canam,  magni  Jovis  et  Deorum 
Nuntium,  cur\aeque  lyrae  parentem 
Callidum,  quidquid  piacuit,  jocoso 
Condere  furto. 


III. 

Te,  boves  dim  nisi  reddidisses 
Per  dolum  amotas,  puerum  minaci 
Voce  dum  terret,  viduus  pharetra 
Risit  Apollo. 


402  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

IV.  IV. 

The  night  old  Priam  sorrowing  went,  Quin  et  Atridas,  duce  te,  superbos, 

With  gold,  through  many  a  Grecian  tent,  Ilio  dives  Priamus  relicto, 

And  many  a  foeman's  watchfire,  bent  Thessalosque  ignes  et  iniqua  Trojae 

To  ransom  Hector,  Castra  fefellit. 

In  YOU  he  found  a  provident 

Guide  and  protector. 

V.  V. 

Where  bloom  Elysium's  groves,  beyond  Tu  pias  laetis  animas  reponis 

Death's  portals  and  the  Stygian*  pond,  Sedibus,  virgaque  levem  coerces 

Yof  guide  the  ghosts  with  golden  wand,  Aurea  turbam,  superis  Deorum 

Whose  special  charm  is  Gratus  et  imis. 

That  Jove  and  Pi.uto  both  are  fond 

Alike  of  Hermes  ! 

So  much  for  Mercury.  Turn  we  now  to  another  feature  in  the  planetary 
system.  The  rage  for  astrological  pursuits,  and  the  behef  in  a  secret  in- 
fluence exercised  by  the  stars  over  the  life  and  fortune  of  individuals,  seems, 
at  certain  epochs  of  the  world's  history,  to  have  seized  on  mankind  like  a 
periodical  epidemic  ;  but  at  no  junction  of  human  affairs  was  the  mania  so 
prevalent  as  after  the  death  of  Julius  Caesar.  The  influx  of  Asiatic  luxury  had 
been  accompanied  by  the  arrival  at  Rome  of  a  number  of  "  wise  men  from  the 
east,"  and  considerable  curiosity  had  been  excited  among  all  classes  by  the 
strange  novelty  of  oriental  traditions.  Among  these  remnants  of  original 
revelation,  the  announcement  of  a  forthcoming  Conqueror,  to  be  harbingered 
and  ushered  into  the  possession  of  empire  by  a  mysterious  star,*  had  fixed  the 
attention  of  political  intriguers  as  a  fit  engine  for  working  on  popular  credulity  ; 
and  hence  the  partisans  of  young  Octavius  were  constantly  ringing  the  changes 
on  "C.ESARis  Astrum"  and  "  Juliu.m  vSidus,"  until  they  had  actually  forced 
the  populace  into  a  strong  faith  in  the  existence  of  some  celestial  phenomenon 
connected  with  the  imperial  house  of  Cresar.  Those  who  recollect,  as  I  do,  how 
famously  "  Pastorinis  Prophecies"  assisted  the  interests  of  Captain  Rock  and 
the  dynasty  of  Derrynane,  will  understand  the  nature  of  this  sort  of  humbug,  ' 
and  will  readily  imagine  how  the  mob  of  Rome  was  tutored  by  the  augurs  into 
a  firm  reliance  on  tlie  interference  of  Heaven  in  the  business.  Buonaparte  was 
too  shrewd  a  student  of  human  weaknesses,  and  had  read  histor\'  too  care- 
fully to  overlook  the  tendency  of  the  vulgar  towards  this  belief  in  supernatural 
apparitions ;  hence  he  got  up  an  ignis  fatuus  of  his  own,  which  he  called  the 
"SOLEiL  d'Austerlitz,"  and  out  of  which  he  took  a  particular  shine  on  more 
than  one  brilliant  occasion.  Many  an  old  infidel  grenadier  was  firmly  persuaded 
that,  better  than  Joshua  the  Jew,  their  leader  could  command  the  glorious  disc 
to  do  his  biddings;  and  every  battle-field,  consequently,  became  a  "  valley  of 
Ajalon,"  where  they  smote  the  sourcrout  children  of  Germany  to  their  hearts' 
content.  But  we  are  wandering  from  the  era  of  Augustus.  IBy  a  very  natural 
process,  the  belief  in  a  ruling  star,  in  connection  with  the  imperial  family, 
expanded  itself  from  that  narrov/  centre  into  the  broad  circumference  of  every 
family  in  the  empire;  and  each  individual  began  to  fancy  he  might  discover  a 
small  twinkling  shiner,  of  personal  importance  to  himself,  in  the  wide  canopy 
of  heaven.  Great,  in  consequence,  was  the  profit  accruing  to  any  cunning 
seer  from  the  east,  who  might  happen  to  set  up  an  observatory  on  some  one 
of  the  seven  hills  for  the  purpose  of  allotting  to  each  lady  and  gentleman  their 
own  particular  planet.    Nostradamus,  Cagliostro,  Dr.  Spurzheim,  and  St.  John 

*  The  expressions  of  Propertius  are  very  remarkable  : 

*'Qua;rii:s  et  rnp'o  rnotNicr.M  inventa  sereno 
CJua;  sit  Stella,"  «S:c.,  <fcc. 

Lib.  ii.  20,  60. 


The  So7igs  of  Horace. 


403 


Long,  had  long  been  anticipated  by  Roman  practitioners ;  and  in  the  annals 
of  rogueryi  as  well  as  of  literature  and  politics,  there  is  nothing  new  under 

the  sun. 

In  Mr.  Ainsworth's  yet  unpublished  romance  of  the  "Admirable  Crichton" 
(which  he  has  had  the  idea  of  submitting  to  my  perusal),  I  cannot  but  com- 
mend the  use  he  has  made  of  the  astrological  practices  so  prevalent  ur.der  the 
r.  ijn  of  Henri  Trois,  and  in  the  days  of  Catherine  de  Medicis ;  indeed,  I 
s -arcely  know  any  of  the  so-called  historical  novels  of  this  frivolous  generation, 
V.  iiich  has  altogether  so  graphically  reproduced  the  spirit  and  character  of  the 
tiines,  as  this  dashing  and  daring  portraiture  of  the  young  Scotchman  and  his 
cur.temporarit^s. 

'Ihe  mistress  of  Horace,  it  would  seem,  had  taken  it  into  her  head  to  go 
consult  these  soothsayers  from  Chaldea,  as  to  the  probable  duration  of  the 
poet's  life  and  her  own — of  course,  fancying  it  needless  to  inquire  as  to  the 
pro'jabiiity  of  their  amours  being  quite  commensurate  with  the  continuance  of 
tlieir  earthly  career  ;  a  matter  which  circumstances,  nevertheless,  should  render 
soniewhat  problematical — whereupon  her  lover  chides  the  propensity,  m  the 
foUouinsr  strain  of  tender  and  affectionate  remonstrance  :— 


ODE  XI. 


AD    LEL'COXOEN. 


I. 


Love,  mine  I  seek  not  to  grope 
Through  the  dark  windings  of  Ch.\ldeak  witchery, 

To  learn  your  horoscope, 
Or  mine,  from  vile  adepts  in  fraud  and  treacherj'. 
My  Lelconoe  I  shun 
Ihoie  sons  of  Babvlox. 


IL 

Far  better  'twere  to  wait, 
Calmly  resign'd,  the  destined  hour's  maturity. 

Whether  our  life's  brief  date 
This  winter  close,  or,  through  a  long  futuritj', 
For  us  the  sea  still  roar 
On  yon  Tvrkenean  shore. 


in. 

Let  Wisdom  fill  the  cup  : — 
Vain  hopes  of  lengthen'd  days  and  years  felicitous 

FoLLV  may  treasure  up  : 
Ours  be  the  day  that  passeth — unsolicltous 
Of  what  the  ne.xt  may  bring. 
Time  flieth  as  we  sing  ! 


I. 

Tu  ne  qusEsieris, 

Scire  nefas, 
Quern  mihi,  quem  tibi, 
Finem  Di  dederint, 

Leuconoe, 
Nee  Babylonios 
Tentans  numeros. — 

Ut  melius 

II. 

Quidquid  erit,  pati, 
Seu  plures  hiemes, 
Seu  tribuit 

Jupiter  ultimam. 
Quae  nunc  oppositis 

Debilitat 
Pumicibus  mare 
TjTrhenum  ! 

III. 

Sapias,  vina  liques, 

Et  spatio  brevi 
Spem  longem  reseces. 

Dum  loquimur, 

Fugerit  invida 
.^fas.     Carpe  diem, 

Quam  minimum 
Credula  postero. 


Horace  has  often  been  accused  of  plundering  the  Greeks,  and  of  transfemng 
entire  odes  from  theh  language  into  Latin  metres.  The  charge  is  perfectly 
borne  out  bv  conclusive  facts,  and  I  shall  have  many  an  opportunity  ol  recur- 
ring to  the  evidences,  as  afforded  in  the  subsequent  decades  of  this  series. 
The  opening  of  the  following  glorious  dithvranr.b  is  clearly  borrowed  from  t,ie 
AiaH"poo/LU77fs 'Y/ii^yj  of  Pindar;  but  I  venture  to  say  that  there  is  not.  m 
the  whole  collection  of  the  Songs  of  Horace,  a  mora    truly  Roman,  a  more 


404  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 

intensely  national  effusion,  than  this  invocation  of  divine  protection  on  the 
head  of  the  government.  The  art  of  lyrical  progression,  the  ars  cdare  artem, 
is  nowhere  practised  with  greater  effect  ;  and  the  blending  up  of  all  the  histo- 
rical recollections  most  dear  to  the  country  with  the  prospects  of  the  newly 
established  dynasty,  the  hopes  of  the  young  Marcellus,  and  the  preservation  of 
the  emperors  life,  is  a  master-stroke  of  the  politico-poetical  tactician.  'Ihe 
very  introduction  of  a  word  in  honour  of  the  republican  Cato,  by  throwing 
the  public  off  its  guard,  and  by  giving  an  air  of  independent  boldness  to  the 
composition,  admirably  favours  the  object  he  has  in  view.  A  more  august 
association  of  ideas,  a  bolder  selection  of  images,  is  not  to  be  found  within 
the  compass  of  any  ode,  ancient  or  modern — save,  perhaps,  in  the  canticle  of 
Habakkuk,  or  in  the  "  Persian  feast  "  of  Dryden. 

ODE  XII.— A   PRAYER  FOR   AUGUSTUS. 

"  Quem  virum  aut  heroa." 

Aria — "  Sublime  was  the  warning." 

I. 

Name,  Clio,  the  man  !  or  the  god  .  .  . — for  whose  sake 
The  lyre,  or  the  clarion,  loud  echoes  shall  wake 

On  thy  favourite  hill,  or  in  Helicon's  grove?  .... 
Whence  forests  have  follow'd  the  wizard  of  Thrace, 
When  rivers  enraptured  suspended  their  race, 
When  ears  were  vouchsafed  to  the  obdurate  oak, 
And  the  blasts  of  Mount  H^M  us  bow'd  down  '^'^  tte  yoke 

Of  the  magical  minestrel,  grandson  of  jovE. 

II. 

First  to  Him  raise  the  song  !  whose  parental  control 
Men  and  gods  feel  alike  ;  whom  the  waves,  as  they  roll — 
*        Whom  the  earth,  and  the  stars,  and  the  seasons  obey, 
Unapproach'd  in  his  godhead  ;  majestic  alone. 
Though  Pallas  may  stand  on  the  steps  of  his  throne. 
Though  huntress  Diana  may  challenge  a  shrine. 
And  worship  be  due  to  the  god  of  the  vine, 
And  to  archer  Ai-ollo,  bright  giver  of  day  ! 

III. 

Shall  we  next  sing  Alcides  ?  or  Leda's  twin-lights — 
Him  the  Horseman,  or  him  whom  the  Cestus  delights? 

Both  shining  aloft,  by  the  seaman  adored  : 
(For  he  kens  that  their  rising  the  clouds  can  dispel, 
Dash  the  foam  from  the  rock,  and  the  hurricane  quell.)^ 
i){  Romulus  next  shall  the  claim  be  allow'd? 
Of  NuMA  the  peaceful?  of  Takouin  the  proud? 

Of  Cato,  whose  fall  hath  ennobled  his  sword  ? 

IV. 

Shall  ScAURUS,  shall  Regulus  fruitlessly  crave 
Honour  due?  shall  the  Consul,  \  h  >  prodigal  gave 

His  life-blood  on  CAN.N>f':'s  disa;  terous  plain? — 
Camillus?  or  he  whom  a  king  could  not  tempt? 
Stern  Poverty's  children,  unfashion'd,  unkempt. — 
The  fame  of  Makckllus  grows  yet  in  the  shade, 
13ut  the  meteor  of  Julius  beams  over  his  head, 

Like  the  moon  that  outshines  all  the  stars  in  her  train  ! 


The  So7igs  of  Horace.  405 


V. 

Great  Deity,  guardian  of  men  \  unto  whom 

We  commend,  in  Augustus,  the  fortunes  of  Rome, 

Reign-  for  ever  !  but  guard  his  subordinate  throne. 
Be  it  his — of  the  Parthian  each  inroad  to  check  ; 
Of  the  Indian,  in  triumph,  to  trample  the  neck ; 
To  rule  all  the  nations  of  earth  ; — be  it  Jove's 
To  exterminate  guilt  from  the  god's  hallow'd  groves. 

Be  the  bolt  and  the  chariot  of  thunder  thine  own  ! 

Next  comes  an  ode  in  imitation  of  Sappho.  Who  has  not  read  that  won- 
drous woman's  eloquent  outburst  of  ecstatic  passion?  In  all  antiquity,  no  love- 
song  obtained  such  celebrity  as  that  which  has  come  down  to  us  in  the  form  of 
a  fragment  ;  but  though  many  attempts  have  been  made  to  divest  it  of  its 
Grecian  envelope,  and  robe  it  in  modern  costume,  I  am  sorry  for  the  sake  of 
the  ladies  to  be  obliged  to  say,  that  it  can  never  be  presented  in  any  other 
shape  than  what  it  wears  in  the  splendid  original.  This  is  the  more  to  be 
regretted,  as  in  a  recent  volume  of  very  exquisite  poetry.  Miss  Landon  has 
devoted  six  glowing  pages*  to  the  development  of  Sappho's  supposed  feel- 
ings. If  kindred  eloquence  could  be  taken  as  a  substitute,  and  if  the  delicate 
instinct  of  a  lively  and  fertile  female  soul  may  be  imagined  fully  capable  of 
catching  the  very  spirit  of  Greek  inspiration,  then  may  it  be  permitted  to  apply 
the  words  of  Horace  occurring  in  another  place  : 

"  Spirat  adhuc  amor 
Vivuntque  commissi  calores 
L^titise  fidibus  puellse." 

Lib.  iv.  ode  ix. 

But,  returning  to  the  ode  before  us,  it  is  not  my  province  to  decide  whether 
the  jealousy  which  our  poet  here  describes  was  really  felt,  or  only  affected  for 
poetic  purposes.  From  the  notorious  unsteadiness  of  his  attachments,  and  the 
multitudinous  list  of  his  loves,  including  in  the  catalogue  Lalage,  Glycera, 
Leuconoe,  Xeasra,  Cloris,  Pyrrha,  Nerine,  Lyce,  Phidyle,  Cynaris,  tSic,  &c. 
(by  the  way,  all  Greek  girls),  I  should  greatly  doubt  the  sincerity  of  his  ardour 
for  Lydia.  It  is  only  necessary,  for  the  explanation  of  "  defiie  labris  iiotam," 
terminating  the  third  stanza,  in  reference  to  Roman  ideas  of  proper  behaviour 
towards  the  ladies,  to  record  what  Flora  says  of  her  friend  Pompey,  in  Plu- 
tarch's life  of  that  illustrious  general  : — lAv^^iovtvuv  ttj?  Trpos  tov  Yio^-nf-iov 
o/uLL\ia9  tos  ovx  V^  iKiivu)  (TvvavaTrav(Tafiivi)v  AAHKTQS  aTriXdtiv.  For  the 
right  understanding  of  that  singular  phrase  in  the  fourth  stanza,  the  "  quintes- 
sence," or  "fifth  part,"  of  nectar,  be  it  remembered  that  the  sweetness  of 
the  celestial  beverage  so  called  was  supposed  to  be  divided  into  ten  parts,  the 
tenth  or  tithe  whereof  constituted  what  men  call  koney  :  To  fisXi,  ivvutov  tjjs 
a/xtpoa-Lu^  /ufoos,  quoth  Ibycus.  From  which  it  is  as  plain  as  Cocker,  that 
Love,  being  the  fifth  part,  or  4,  gives  a  fractional  sweetness  of  much  higher 
power  and  intensity. 

ODE  XIII.— THE  POET'S  JEALOUSY. 

"Quum  tu,  Lydia,  Telephi 
Cerv'icem  roseam,"  &c. 
I.  L 

Lydia,  when  you  tauntingly  Quum  tu,  Lydia,  Telephi 

Talk  of  Telephus,  praising  him  Cervicem  roseam. 

For  his  beauty,  vauntingly  Cerea  Telephi 

Far  beyond  me  raising  him,  Laudas  brachia,  vae  I  meum 
His  rosy  neck,  and  arms  of  alabaster,  Fervens  difficili 

My  rage  I  scarce  can  master  !  Bile  tumet  jecur. 

*  Pp.  115-121  of  the  "Vow  of  the  Peacock,  and  other  Poems,  by  L.  E.  L."    i  vol. 
small  8vo.     Saunders  and  Otlev. 


4o6 


The  Works  of  Father  Protit. 


II. 

Pale  and  faint  with  dizziness. 

All  my  features  presently 
Paint  my  soul's  uneasiness  ; 
Tears,  big  tears,  incessantly 
Steal  down  my  cheeks,  and  tell  in  what  fierce  fashion 
My  bosom  bums  with  passion. 


II. 

Tunc  nee  mens  mihi,  nee  eolor 

Certa  sede  manet ; 

Humor  et  in  genas 
Furtim  labitur,  arguens 

Quam  lentis  penitus 

MaC'Crer  ignibus. 


III. 

'Sdeath  !  to  trace  the  evidence 

Of  your  gay  deceitfulness, 
Mid  the  cup's  improvidence,  • 

Mid  the  feast's  forgetfulness, 
To  trace,  where  lips  and  ivory  shoulders  pay  for  it,- 

The  kiss  of  some  young  favourite  ! 


III. 

Uror,  seu  tibi  candidos 
Turparunt  humeros 
Immodicae  mere 

Rixae  ;  sive  puer  furens 
Impressit  memorem 
Dente  labris  notam. 


IV. 

Deem  not  vainly  credulous 

Such  wild  transports  durable. 
Or  that,  fond  and  sedulous, 

Love  is  thus  procurable  : 
Though  Venus  drench  the  kiss  with  her  quintessence, 

Its  nectar  Time  soon  lessens. 


IV. 

Non,  si  me  satis  audias, 

Speres  perpetuum 

Dulcia  barbare 
Laedentem  oscula,  quae  Venus 

Quinta  parte  sui 

Nectaris  imbuit. 


V. 

But  where  meet  (thrice  fortunate  !) 
Kindred  hearts  and  suitable, 

Strife  comes  ne'er  importunate. 
Love  remains  immutable  ; 
On  to  the  close  they  glide,  mid  scenes  Elysian, 
Through  life's  delightful  vision  ! 


V. 

Felices  ter,  et  amplius, 
Quos  irrupta  tenet 
Copula  ;  nee  malis 

Divulsus  querimoniis 
Suprema  citius 
Solvet  Amor  die  ! 


Quinctilian  (lib.  viii.  6)  gives  the  following  address  to  the  vessel  of  the  state 
as  a  specimen  of  well-sustained  allegory.  It  appears  to  have  been  written  at 
the  outbreak  of  the  civil  war  between  Octavius  and  Marc  Antony,  and  of 
course,  as  all  such  compositions  ought  to  do,  explains  itself.  There  is,  how- 
ever, a  naval  manoeuvre  hinted  at  in  st.  ii.  admirably  illustrative  of  a  passage 
in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  (cap.  x.xvii.  v.  17),  where  the  mariners  are  de- 
scribed by  St.  Luke  as  "  undcrgirdiug  the  ship  "  that  carried  Paul.  Ropes,  it 
appears,  were  let  down,  and  drawn  under  the  keel  of  the  vessel  to  keep  all 
tight  :  tliis  is  what  Horace  indicates  hy  sine  funibus  carina:.  I  recommend 
the  point  to  Captain  Marryat,  should  he  make  St.  Paul's  shipwreck  on  the  isle 
of  Malta  the  subject  of  his  next  nautico-historical  novel. 


ODE  XIV.— TO   THE  VESSEL   OF  THE   STATE. 


An  Allegory. 

AD    REMPUBLICAM. 


\Vhat  fresh  perdition  urges, 
Galley  !  thy  d.irksome  track, 

Once  more  upon  the  surges  ? 
Hie  to  the  haven  back  ! 

Doth  not  the  lightning  show  thee 

Thou  hast  got  none  to  row  thee  ? 


I. 


O  navis,  referent 
In  mare  te  novi 
Fluctus?    Oquidagis? 
Fortiter  occupa 
Portum.     Nonne  vides  ut 
Nudum  remigio  latus 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


407 


II. 

Is  not  thy  mainmast  shatter'd  ? 

Hath  not  the  boisterous  south 
Thy  yards  and  rigging  scattered  ? 

In  dishabille  uncouth, 
How  canst  thou  hope  to  -weather 
The  storms  that  round  thee  gather  ? 

III. 

Rent  are  the  sails  that  deck'd  thee  ; 

Deaf  are  thy  gods  become, 
Though  summon'd  to  protect  thee. 

Though  sued  to  save  thee  from 
The  fate  thou  most  abhorrest, 
Proud  daughter  of  the  forest ! 

IV. 

Thy  vanity  would  vaunt  us. 

Yon  richly  pictured  poop 
Pine-timbers  from  the  Pontus  ; 

Fear  lest,  in  one  fell  swoop. 
Paint,  pride,  and  pine-trees  hollow, 
The  scoffing  whirlpool  swallow  ! 

V. 

I've  watch'd  thee  sad  and  pensive, 
Source  of  my  recent  cares  ! 

Oh,  wisely  apprehensive. 
Venture  not  unawares 

\\Tiere  Greece  spreads  out  her  seas, 

Begemm'd  with  Cvclades  ! 


II. 

Et  mains  celeri 
Saucius  Africo, 
Antennseque  gemant, 
Ac  sine  funibus 
Vix  durare  carinae 
Possint  imperiosius 

III. 

.    iEquor?    Non  tibi  stmt 
Integra  lintea, 
Non  Di  quos  iterum 
Pressa  voces  malo  ; 
Quam\'is  Pontica  pinus, 
Silvse  filia  nobilis, 

IV. 

Jactes  et  genus  et 
Nomen  inutile. 
Nil  pictis  timidus 
Navita  puppibus 
Fidit.     Tu,  nisi  ventis 
Debes  ludibrium,  cave. 


Nuper  sollicitum 
Quae  mihi  tsedium. 
Nunc  desiderium, 
Curaque  non  levis 
Interfusa  nitentes 
Vites  aequora  Cycladas. 


T>^e  same  "  inUrtt  de  cir Constance  "  which  may  have  given  piquancy  to  the 
alle-ory,  possibly  attached  itself  also  to  the  following  spirited  lines.  Antony 
and'cieopatra  must  have  looked  on  the  allusion  to  Pans  and  Helen  as  libellous 
in  the  extreme.  Considered  merely  in  the  hght  of  a  pohtical  sqmb,  the  ode  is 
capital;  but  it  has  higher  merit  as  a  finished  lyric;  and  lorn  CampbeU 
evidently  found  in  it  the  form  as  well  as  substance  of  his  popular  and  spirited 

effusion  :  .  ,    ,  ^  ,     , 

"  Lochiel  !  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day 

When  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle-array. 

ODE  XV. -THE   SEA-GOD'S  WARNING  TO   PARIS. 

"  Pastor  cum  traheret,"  <S:c. 

I. 

As  the  Shepherd  of  Troy,  wafting  over  the  deep 

Sad  Perfidy's  freightage,  bore  Helen  along. 
Old  Nereus  uprose,  hush'd  the  breezes  to  sleep, 

And  the  secrets  of  doom  thus  reveal'd  m  his  song. 

II. 

Ah  !  homeward  thou  bring'st,  with  an  omen  of  dread. 

One  whom  Greece  will  reclaim  :-for  her  millions  have  SN%om 

Not  to  rest  till  thev  tear  the  false  bnde  from  thy  bed, 
Or  till  Pri.^m's  old  throne  their  revenge  overturn. 


408  The  Works  of  Father  Front, 


III. 

See  the  struggle  I  how  foam  covers  horsemen  and  steeds  ! 

See  thy  Ilion  consi^n'd  to  the  bloodiest  of  sieges  ! 
Mark,  array'd  in  her  helmet,  Minerva,  who  speeds 

To  prepare  for  the  battle  her  car  and  her  aegis  ! 

IV. 
Too  fondly  thou  deemest  that  Vexl'S  will  vouch 

For  a  life  which  thou  spendest  in  trimming  thy  curls. 
Or  in  tuning,  reclined  on  an  indolent  couch. 

An  effeminate  lyre  to  an  audience  of  girls. 

V. 

Though  awhile  in  voluptuous  pastime  employ'd, 

Far  away  from  the  contest,  the  truant  of  lust 
May  baffle  the  bowmen,  and  .A-JAX  avoid, 

Thy  adulterous  ringlets  are  doom'd  to  the  dust  ! 

VI. 
Seest  thou  him  of  Ithaca,  scourge  of  thy  race? 

Gallant  Teucer  of  Salamis?  Nestor  the  wise? 
How.  urging  his  car  on  th}-  cowardly  trace. 

Swift  Sthenelus  poises  his  lance  as  he  flies? 

VII. 

Swift  Stheneli's,  Diomed's  brave  charioteer, 

Accomplish'd  in  war  like  the  Cretan  Mervon, 
Fierce,  towering  aloft,  see  his  master  appear. 

Of  a  generous  stock  the  illustrious  scion. 

VIII. 
^VIlom  thou,  like  a  fawn,  when  a  wolf  in  the  valley 

The  delicate  pasture  compels  him  to  leave. 
Wilt  fly,  faint  and  breathless— though  flight  may  not  tally 

With  all  thy  beloved  heard  thee  boast  to  achieve. 

IX. 

Achilles,  retired  in  his  angry  pavilion, 

Shall  cause  a  short  respite  to  'iVoy  and  her  dames; 

Yet  a  few  winters  more,  and  the  turrets  of  I  lion 
Must  sink  mid  the  roar  of  retributive  flames  ! 

Horace  first  burst  on  the  town  as  a  satirist,  and  more  than  one  fair  dame 
must  have  had  cause,  hke  Tyndaris,  to  fall  out  with  him.  There  is  a  grace- 
ful mixture  of  playfulness  and  remonstrance  in  the  following  amende  honor- 
able, in  which  he  dwells  on  the  unseemly  appearance  of  resentment  and  anger 
in  the  features  of  beauty.  With  reference  to  stanza  v.,  it  would  appear  that 
the  tragedy  of  "Ihyestes,"  by  Varus,  was  at  that  moment  in  a  successful  run 
on  the  Roman  boards. 

ODE   XVI.— THE   SATIRIST'S    RECANTATION. 

PALINODIA   AD   TVNDARIDEM. 

"  O  !  matre  pulchra  filia  pulchrior." 

I.  I. 

Blest  with  a  charming  mother,  yet,  O  !  matre  pulchra  filia  pulchrior, 

Thuu  still  more  fascinating  daughter  !  Quem  criminosis 

Priihee  my  vile  lampoons  forget—  Cunque  voles  modum 

Give  to  the  flames  the  libel— let  Pones  iamhis  :  sive  flamma, 

The  batire  sink  in  Hadria's  water  !  Sive  mari  libet  Hadriano. 


TJie  So7igs  of  Horace. 


409 


II. 

Not  all  Cybele's  solemn  rites, 

Cymbals  of  brass  and  spells  of  magic  ; 

Apollo's  priest,  mid  Delphic  flights; 

Or  Bacchanal,  mid  fierce  delights, 
Presents  a  scene  more  tragic 

III. 

Than  Anger,  when  it  rules  the  soul. 

Nor  fire  nor  sword  can  then  surmount  her, 
Nor  the  vex'd  elements  control, 
Though  Jove  himself,  from  pole  to  pole. 

Thundering  rush  down  to  the  encounter. 

IV. 

Promethel'S — forced  to  graft,  of  old. 

Upon  our  stock  a  foreign  scion, 
Mix'd  up— if  we  be  truly  told— 
With  some  brute  particles,  our  mould — 
Anger  he  gather'd  from  the  lio-N'. 


Anger  destroy'd  Thyeste's  race, 

O'erwhelm'd  his  house  in  ruin  thorough. 
And  many  a  lofty  city's  trace 
Caused  a  proud  foeman  to  efface, 
Ploughing  the  site  with  hostile  furrow 

VI. 

Oh,  be  appeased  !  'twas  rage,  in  sooth, 

First  woke  my  song's  satiric  tenor; 
In  wild  and  unreflecting  youth, 
Anger  inspired  the  deed  uncouth  : 
But,  pardon  that  foul  misdemeanour. 

VII. 

Lady  !  I  swear — my  recreant  lays 

Henceforth  to  rectify  and  alter — 
To  change  my  tones  from  blame  to  praise, 
Should  your  rekindling  friendship  raise 
The  spirits  of  a  sad  defaulter  ! 


II. 

Non  Dindymene,  non  adytis  quatit 
Mentem  sacerdotum 
Incola  Pythius, 
Non  Liber  aeque,  non  acuta 
Sic  geminant  Corybantes  sera, 

III. 

Tristes  ut  irae  :  quas  neque  Noricus 
Deterret  ensis, 
Nee  mare  naufragum, 
Nee  ssevus  ignis,  nee  tremendo 
Juppiter  ipse  mens  tumultu. 

IV. 

Fertur  Prometheus  addere  principi 
Limo  coactus 
Particulam  undique 
Desectam,  et  insani  leonis 

Vim  stomacho  apposuisse  nostro. 

V. 

Irae  Thyesten  exitio  gravi 
Stravere,  et  altis 
Urbibus  ultimae 
Stetere  causae  cur  perirent 

Funditus,  imprimeretque  muris 

VI. 

Hostile  aratrum  exercitus  insolens. 
Compesce  mentem  ; 
Me  quoque  pectoris 
Tentavit  in  dulci  juventfi 
Fervor,  et  in  celeres  iambos 

VII. 

Misit  furentem  :  nunc  ego  mitibus 
Mutare  quaero  tristia; 
Dum  mihi 
Fias  recantatis  amica 
Opprobriis,  animumque  reddas. 


Here  follows  a  billet-doux,  conveying  to  the  same  offended  lady  (whose 
wrath  we  must  suppose  to  have  vanished  on  perusal  of  the  foregoing)  a 
gallant  invitation  to  the  rural  mansion  of  our  author.  To  perceive  the 
difference  between  a  bonx  fide  invite  and  a  mere  moonshine  proposal,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  collate  this  with  Tom  Moore's 

'  Will  you  come  to  the  bower  I  have  shaded  for  you  ? 
Our  bed  shall  be  roses  all  spangled  with  dew  ! " 

ODE  XVIL— AN   INVITATION   TO  HORACE^S  VILLA. 


I. 


AD   TYNDARIDEM. 


I. 


Oft  for  the  hill  where  ranges 

My  Sabine  flock, 
Swift-footed  Fawn  exchanges 
Arcadia's  rock, 
And,  tempering  summer's  ray,  forbids 
Untoward  rain  to  harm  my  kids. 


Velox  amoenum 
Saepe  Lucretilem 
Mutat  Lj-caeo 
Faunus,  et  igneam 
Defendit  aestatem  capellis 
Usque  meis  pluviosque  ventos. 


II. 

And  there,  in  happy  vagn'^nce. 

Roams  the  she-goat, 
Lured  by  marital  fragrance, 
Through  dells  remote  ; 
Of  each  wild  herb  and  shrub  partakes. 
Nor  fears  the  coil  of  lurking  snakes. 


II. 

Impune  tutum 
Per  nemus  arbutos 
Quaerunt  latentes 
_Et  thyma  devise 
Olentis  uxores  mariti  : 
Nee  virides  metuunt  colubras. 


III. 

No  prowling  wolves  alarm  her; 

Safe  from  their  gripe 
While  Fawn,  immortal  charmer  ! 
Attunes  his  pipe. 
And  down  the  vale  and  o'er  the  hills 
Of  UsTiCA  each  echo  fills. 


III. 

Nee  martiales 
Hseduleas  lupos ; 
Utcunque  dulci, 
Tyndari,  fistula 
Valles.  et  Usticse  cubantis 
Levia  personuere  saxa. 


IV. 

The  GODS,  their  bard  caressing. 

With  kindness  treat : 
They've  fiU'd  my  house  with  blessing- 
My  country-seat, 
Where  Plenty  voids  her  loaded  horn. 
Fair  Tvndaris,  pray  come  adorn  ! 


IV 

Di  me  tuentur  ; 
Dis  pietas  mea 
Et  musa  cordi  est. 
Hie  tibi  copia 
Manabit  ad  plenum  benigno 
Ruris  honorum  ooulenta  cornu. 


From  SiRius  in  the  zenith. 
From  summer's  glare, 
Come,  where  the  valley  sereeneth, 
Come,  warble  there 
Songs  of  the  hero,  for  whose  love 
Penelope  and  Cikce  strove. 


Hie  in  reducta 
Valle  caniculae 
Vitabis  jestus, 
Et  fide  Te'i'a 
Dices laborantes  in  uno 

Penelopen  vitreamque  Circe^i. 


VI. 

Nor  shall  the  cup  be  wanting, 

So  harmless  then. 
To  grace  that  hour  enchanting 
In  shady  glen. 
Nor  shall  the  juice  our  calm  disturb, 
Nor  aught  our  sweet  emotions  curb  ? 


VI. 

Hie  innocentis 
Pocula  Lesbii   • 
Duces  sub  umbra ; 
Nee  Semele'ius 
Cum  Marte  confundet  Thyoneus 
Prcelia  ;  nee  metues  protervum 


VII. 

Fear  not,  my  fair  one  !  Cyrus 

Shall  not  intrude, 
Nor  worry  thee,  desirous 
Of  solitude. 
Nor  rend  thy  innocent  robe,  nor  tear 
The  garland  from  thy  flowing  hair. 


VII. 

Suspecta  Cyrum 
Ne  male  dispari 
•  Ineontinentes 
Injiciat  manus, 
Et  scindat  haerentem  eoronam 
Crinibus,  immeritamque  vestem. 


ODE  XVIII. 

This  drinking  son£j  is  a  manifest  translation  fro;rj  the  Greek  of  Alcseus. 
To  the  concluding  words,  " pcrliicidior  vitro,"  I  have  ventured  to  attach  a 
meaning  which  the  recent  discoveries  at  Pompeii,  of  drinking  utensils  made 
of  a  kind  of  silicious  material,  would  seem  fully  to  justify. 


"  Xllam,  Vare,  sacra  vite  prius  sevens  arhorem,"  &c. 

'MijOiV  aX\o  ipvTEU(T->i?  TrnoTepou  otvopov  auirtXio,  k.  t.  X. 

Alc^us  a/ud  Athen^um. 

I. 

XuUam,  "Vare,  sacre  vite  prius  severis  arborem 
Circa  mite  solum  Tiburis,  et  mcenia  Catili : 
Siccis  omnia  nam  dura  Deus  proposuit ;  neque 
:Mordaces  aliter  diffugiunt  soUicitudmes. 

II. 

Quis  post  vina  gravem  militiam  aut  pauperiem  crepat  ? 
Quis  non  te  potuis,  Bacche  pater,  teque,  decens  \enus? 
At  ne  quis  modici  transiliat  munera  Liben, 
Centaurea  monet  cum  Lapithis  rixa  super  mere 

III. 

Debellata  ;  monet  Sithoniis  non  levis  Evius, 
Ouum  fas  atque  nefas  exiguo  tine  libidmum 
l)ipcernunt  avidi.     Non  ego  te,  candide  Bassareu, 
Invitum  quatiam  :  nee  variis  obsita  frondibus 

IV. 

Sub  divum  rapiam.     Sseva  tene  cum  Berec\-nthio 
Cornu  tympana,  quffi  subsequitur  caicus  amor  sui, 
Et  tollens  vacuum  plus  nimio  gloria  verticem, 
Arcanique  fides  prodiga,  perlucidior  vitro. 

I. 

Since  at  Tivoli,  VAra'S,  you've  fix'd  upon  planting 

Round  your  villa  enchanting, 
Of  all  trees,  O  my  friend  !  let  the  Vine  be  the  first. 

II. 

On  no  other  condition  will  Jove  lend  assistance 

To  keep  at  a  distance 
Chagrin,  and  the  cares  that  accompany  thirst. 

III. 
No  one  talks  after  wine  about  "  battles  "  or  "famine  ;" 

But,  if  you  examine. 
The  praises  of  love  and  good  living  are  rite. 

IV. 
Though  once  the  Centaurs,  mid  potations  too  ampic. 

Left  a  tragic  example 
Of  a  banquet  dishonour'd  by  bloodshed  and  stnte. 


Far  removed  be  such  doings  from  us  1     Let  the  Thkacians, 

Amid  their  libations, 
Confound  all  the  limits  of  right  and  of  wrong 

VI. 

I  never  will  join  in  their  orgies  unholy— 

I  never  will  sully  ,    i    ,„ 

The  rites  that  to  leaf-y-crownd  Bacchus  belong 


412 


TJie  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


VII. 

Cybele  may  silence  her  priesthood,  and  calm  her 

Brass  cymbals  and  clamour  ; 
Away  with  such  outbursts,  uproarious  and  vain  ! 

VIII. 

Displays  often  follow'd  by  Insolence  mulish, 

And  Confidence  foolish, 
To  be  seen  through  and  through,  like  this  glass  that  I  drain  ! 

In  the  first  decade  of  Horatian  songs,  it  became  my  duty  to  supply  in  the 
original  Latin,  from  the  Vatican  Codex,  a  long-lost  effusion  of  the  Sabine 
farmer,  called  "  Virent  arundines ;  "  or,  as  the  Scotch  have  it,  "Green 
grow  the  rashes,  O  !"  I  am  equally  happy  to  be  enabled,  owing  to  the 
late  Sir  Humphry  Davy's  experiments  on  the  calcmed  volumes  found  at 
Herculaneum,  to  supply,  in  concludmg  this  second  essay,  another  lost  ode  oi 
Horace,  which  has  been  imitated  both  in  French  and  English  (unconsciously, 
no  doubt)  by  two  modern  versemongers. 

ODE   XIX. 

T.  I-  I- 

Eveline's  Fall. 

Ah!  weep  for  the  Iioiir 
WJien,  to  Eveline's  bower, 
TJie  lord  of  the  valley 
With  false  vows  came. 
The  fnoon  hid  her  light 
In  the  Jieavens  that  night, 
A  nd  wept  behi?id  fier  clouds 
For  tJic  maideiis  shame. 

II. 

TJie  clouds  pass  soon 
Frojn  tfie  cold  chaste  jnooft, 
A  nd  the  /u:avens  smiled  again 
IVith  her  vestal  flame  ; 
But  wlio  shall  see  the  day 
U'hen  the  cloud  will  pass  away 
Which  that  evening  left 
Upon  Eveline's  name  i 

III. 

The  white  snow  lay 
On  the  narrow  pathway. 
Where  tJie  lord  of  the  }nanor 
Cross' d  oz'er  the  moor  ; 
And  many  a  deep pritit. 
On  the  white  snow's  tint, 
Show'd  the  track  of  his  footsteps 
To  Eveline's  door. 

IV. 

The  first  S7in's  ray 
Soon  jneltcd  away 
Every  trace  of  the  passage 
IVhere  tliefilte  lord  came  ; 
But  there's  a  light  al'OZ'c, 
Which  alone  can  remove 
The  stain  uf>on  the  sno'w 
Of  Eveline's  fame .' 


La  Ch^te  d'Emma. 

Ah  !  maudite  soit  I'heure, 
Quand  de  I'humble  demeure 
D'Emma,  le  faux  seigneur 

eut  franchi  le  sueil. 
Pauvre  fille  !  la  lune 
Pleura  ton  infortune, 
Et  couvrit  son  visage 

en  signe  de  deuil. 

II. 

Eient6t  la  lune  etale 
Sa  clarte  de  Vestale, 
Et  de  son  chaste  front 

les  nuages  s'en  vont. — 
Mais  la  tache  qui  reste 
De  cette  nuit  funeste. 
Qui  pourra  I'effacer? 

ou  reparer  Taffront  ? 

III. 

La  neige  virginale 
Couvrait  tout  I'intervalle 
Du  superbe  manoir 

au  modeste  rcduit  ; 
Et  la  blanche  surface 
Garda  plus  d'une  trace 
Des  pas  du  faux  seigneur 

cette  fatale  nuit. 

IV. 

Un  rayon  du  soleil, 
A  son  premier  re  veil, 
EffaQa  pour  toujours 

les  vestiges  du  parjure  ; 
Mais,  Emma  !  il  te  faut 
Une  lumicrc  d'en  haut. 
Qui  verse  im  doiix  oubli 

sur  ta  mesaventure  ! 


L.\psus  Em.m.e. 

Heu  lachn,-mor  horam 
Cum  fraudibus  malis. 
Dux  virgine  coram 
Apparuit  vallis. 
Non  tulit  impune 
Congressum  misella,  .  . 
Cor  doluit  Lunae 
Pro  lapsa  puella ! 

II. 

Quae  condidit  frontem 
Sub  nubium  velo, 
Mox  vultum  insontem 
Explicuit  ccelo. 
Sed  utinam  casti, 
Sic  nominis  gemma, 
Quam  tu  inquinasti 
Claresceret  Emma  ! 

III. 

Tegebant  rus  nives. 
Cum  meditans  crimen, 
Pedem  tulit  dives 
Ad  pauperis  limen. 
Et  ager  est  fassus, 
Vel  indice  calle. 
Qua  tulerat  passus 
In  Candida  valle. 

IV. 

Exoriens,  mane 
•Sol  uti  consuevit 
Vestigia  plane 
Nivemque  delevit ; 
Puella  !  par  lumen 
Quod  sanet  remorsum, 
Misericors  Numen 
Det  tibi  deorsum  ! 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  413 


XXIII. 

(Fraser's  Magazine,  September,  1836.) 


[Croquis'  etching  in  the  Fraser  containing  IMahony's  third  decade  of  the  Songs  of 
Horace  was  a  full-length  profile-sketch  of  Sheridan  Knowles,  distinctly  suggestive  (in  his 
stooping  shoulders)  of  the  author  of  the  "  Hunchback."  Any  one  who  has  ever  glanced 
at  it  will  readily  recall  to  mind  the  grotesque  effect  with  which  the  dramatist's  chin  is 
meditatively  buried  in  his  capacious  cravat,  while  clearly  enough,  though  afar  off,  is  seen 
Shakspere's  Monument.  ] 


Decade  the  Third. 


"Tu  Latium  beas  Horati,  ^ 

Alcaeo  potior  lyristes  ipso." — SiDOX.  Apollin.,  ep.  vili. 

"  Le  seul  Horace  en  tous  genres  excelle — 
De  Citharee  e.xalte  les  faveurs, 
Chante  les  dieu.x,  les  heros,  les  buveurs  ; 
Des  sots  auteurs  heme  les  vers  ineptes, 
Nous  instruisant  par  gracieu.x  preceptes, 

Et  par  sermons,  de  joye  antidotes." — J.  B.  RousSEAi;. 

Horace,  in  one  small  volume,  shows  us  what  it  is 

To  blend  together  every  kind  of  talent  ; — 
Tis  a  bazaar  for  all  sorts  of  commodities, 

To  suit  the  gay,  the  sad,  the  grave,  the  gallant  : 
He  deals  in  songs  and  "sermons,"  whims  and  oddities, 

By  turns  is  philosophic  and  pot-valiant, 
And  not  unfrequently  with  sarcasm  slaughters 
The  vulgar  insolence  of  coxcomb  authors. — O.  Y. 

The  "diffusion"  of  knowledge  is,  we  suspect,  somehow  irreconcilable  with 
its  condensation  ;  at  least,  we  see  no  other  way  of  explaining  the  notorious  fact, 
that  one  old  standard  author  contains  (either  in  the  germ  or  in  full  development) 
more  ideas  than  a  whole  modern  "Cyclopcedia;  "  furnishing  more  materials 
for  thought  and  feeling  to  work  on  than  are  now  accumulated  during  a  whole 
Olympiad  in  the  warehouses  of  Paternoster  Row.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we 
gladlv  revert  with  Prout  to  the  small  Elzevir  which,  towards  the  close  of  his 
earthly  career,  formed  the  subject  of  his  vesper  meditations,  and  cheerfully 
accompany  him  through  another  "decade"  of  his  classic  rosary. 


Not  that  we  are  inattentive  to  the  workings  of  the  human  mind,  as  displayed 
in  modern  authorship;  not  that  we  neglect  the  still  more  fleeting  effusions  of 
contemporary  "journalism  :"  we  read  everything  that  appears  in  the  shape 
of  print ;  we  glance  at  every  object  that  comes  across  our  path  or  falls  in  our 
way,  from  the  broad  sheet  of  political  lightning  that  flashes  every  morning 
from  the  Thundekek,  to  the  wisdom  of  Lord  Palmerston,  made  up  every 
evening  in  "  that  ball  of  horse-dung  called  the  Globe."*  We  take  an  interest 
in  the  daily — we  are  even  curious  to  see  its  spirit  diluted  in  the  weizkly,  press; 
not  disdaining  the  ephemeral  baked  meats  that  coldly  furnish  forth  the  heb- 
domadal banquet.  The  '' 7-cpctita  Kpa\xQ.^"  (or  "twice-boiled  cabbage")  does 
not  "  kill"  us,  as  it  did  certain  pedagogues  in  the  days  of  Juvenal  ;  we  roam 
through  this  world  of  newspapers  and  publications  like  the  famous  "  child  at  a 
feast,"  tasting  of  each  solid,  sipping  of  each  liquid,  destructive,  as  it  maybe, 
or  restorative  to  the  constitution,  from  the  sparkling  champagne  poured  out  by 
Hook  or  Maginn,  to  the  blue  ruin  of  the  Exami7icr,  or  the  small  beer  of  the 
Dispatch. 

Such  has  been  our  practice  up  to  the  present  time,  but  we  know  not  how  it 
will  be  with  us  next  month.  We  know  not  whether  we  shall  be  tempted  to 
take  up  a  newspaper  after  the  fatal  ides  of  September,  1S36. 

The  removal  of  the  stamp-duty  on  the  15th  bids  fair  to  open  the  floodgates 
of  "diffusion,"  so  as  to  swamp  us  altogether.  Then  will  begin  the  grand 
millennium  of  cheap  knowledge;  from  that  auspicious  day  will  be  dated  the 
hegira  of  Hetherington.  The  conquest  of  China  by  the  Tartars  will  find  its 
parallel  in  the  simultaneous  rush  of  writers  over  the  great  wall,  which  the  sober 
wisdom  of  former  reigns  had  erected  to  restrain  such-like  inroads  of  Calmuc 
vagrancy.  The  breaking  down  of  the  dykes  of  Holland,  and  the  letting  in  of 
the  Zuyderzee,  is  to  be  reliearsed  in  the  domains  of  literature.  The  Dutchmen 
were  drowned  by  a  rat — n'e  are  to  be  inundated  by  Rice.  Soap,  it  is  true,  will 
continue  to  be  as  dear  as  ever,  but  the  "  waters  of  instruction  "  are  to  be  plenti- 
fully supplied  to  the  unwashed. 

"  Venit  vilissima  rerum 
Hie  aqua." — Itrr  Br^mdis. 

One  cannot  help  imagining  that  a  concomitant  reduction  on  the  former  most 
useful  article  would  prove  as  beneficial  to  the  Radicals  as  the  cheapening  of 
brimstone  (for  example)  would  be  to  the  writers  and  readers  of  the  Courier  ; 
but  the  Whigs,  probably,  wish  to  monopolize  yet  awhile  the  staple  manufacture 
of  Windsor,  for  the  exclusive  purpose  of  blowing  bubbles  to  delude  the  rabble. 
We  observe,  by  the  bye,  from  a  recently-discovered  process,  that  i\\c J/ints  have 
been  found  less  hard-heraled  than  the  Chancellor. 

To  the  press,  as  hitherto  constituted,  we  acknowledge  ourselves  exceedingly 
indebted.  On  a  late  occasion,  the  unanimous  expression  of  cordial  sympathy 
which  burst  from  every  organ  of  public  opinion,  in  reprobation  of  a  brutal 
assault,  has  been  to  us  consolatory  and  gratifying.  We  shall  hazard  tlie 
incurring  a  charge  of  vanity,  perhaps,  but  we  cannot  help  replying  to  such 
testimonies  of  fellow-feeling  towards  ourselves  in  the  language  of  a  gifted 
\<om7iv\.  •.—"Est  7}ii  hi  J  tic  II  n  da  in  uialis,  ct  strata  in  dolore,  vestra  cri^a  ?ne 
voluntas  ;  sed  curani  dc  tne  quceso  deponite"  {Catilinar.  iv.).  The  interests  of 
literature  are  still  uppermost  in  our  thoughts,  and  take  precedency  of  any  selfish 
considerations.  Wic  will  be  ever  found  at  our  post,  intrepidly  denouncing  the 
vulgar  arrogance  of  booljy  scribblers,  imsparingly  censuring  the  obtrusion  into 
literary  circles  of  silly  pretenders,  ignorant  horse-jockies,  and  brainless  bullies. 

We  said  that  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  daily  or  weekly  paper  escapes  our 
perusal.      Accordingly,  we  took  up  a  number  of  the  Carlton    Chronicle  for 

♦  Cobbett 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  415 


last  month,  in  which  we  read  with  some  astonishment  the  assertion  that  Marc 
Antony  "  was  justified"  in  causing  M.  T.  Cicero  to  be  wa/laid  and  butchered 
in  cold  blood,  as  some  atonement  for  his  "  wounded  feelings  "  on  reading-  that 
glorious  oration  called  the  Second  Philippic.  The  Carlton  C/i?-onicle  \s  con- 
ducted by  a  young  barrister  of  eminent  attainments,  and  we  therefore  experi- 
ence some  surprise  at  the  views  of  Roman  law,  or  the  laws  of  civilized  society 
(as  contradistinguished  from  the  laws  of  "Lynxh,"  the  American  Lycurfnis), 
put  forth  in  this  startling  announcement.  Our  illustrious  namesake,  Cromwell' 
was  not  very  scrupulous  in  his  respect  for  the  "baubles  "  of  legal  arrantrement ; 
yet  even  he  took  alarm  at  the  title  of  a  pamphlet,  called  "  Killing  no 
'Ml'RDER.'"  We  are  not  exactly  members  of  the  Inner  Temple,  but  we  beg  to 
question  the  propriety  of  the  above  decision,  which  we  cannot  otherwise  qualify 
than  as 

"  A  sentiment  exxeedingly  atrocious, 
Not  to  be  found  (we  trust)  in  Puffendorf  or  Grotius." 

We  rejoice,  however,  at  the  introduction  of  Tully's  immortal  speech,  and  are 
thankful  of  being  thus  reminded  of  a  classic  precedent  for  intrepidly  exposing 
to  the  scorn  of  all  rightly  thinking  men  those  blunders  and  follies  which  force 
themselves  into  public  notice  by  their  own  act,  and,  baboon-like,  exhibit  their 
shameful  side  by  a  false  position  of  their  own  choosing. 

Cicero  had  to  reply  to  an  elaborate  composition  of  his  stupid  adversary, 
published  by  Marc  Antony  himself,  at  his  own  expense,  at  the  bookshop  of  the 
Roman  Bentley  of  the  day ;  need  we  add,  miserably  deficient  in  literary  value, 
and  rich  only  in  absurdities — "  hoc  nt  colligcres  hoino  amcfitissimc  tot  dies  in 
alieivl  villa  scriptitastif"  [Philip,  ii.)  In  that  production  the  booby  had 
touched  upon  points  which  he  should  have  been,  of  all  other  men,  careful  to 
avoid.     Mark,   we  pray  you,   gentle  reader,  the  words  of  Tully  :   "  Maxime 

MIROR    MENTIONEM    Te'  H.EREDITATUM    AUSUM    ESSE    FACERE    CU:^!    IPSE 

h.5;reditatem  patris  non  adisses."— //.  ibidem. 

We  need  not  point  out  the  passage,  of  which  this  is  the  exact  prototype ; 
neither  is  it  necessary  to  indicate  where  may  be  found  a  fac-simile  for  the  sub- 
sequent exclamation  of  the  indignant  orator — "  O  miscrcc.  7?i u lieri s fccciaid itateni 
calainitosain  !"  [it.  ibidem)  ;  nor  the  allusion  contained  in  the  words  by  which 
he  reproaches  his  opponent  for  the  confirmed  stupidity  evinced  in  his  literary 
production,  albeit  he  had  enjoyed  certain  advantages  of  family  wit — "  aliquid 
eni7n  salis  A'B  UXORE  MIMA  trahcrc  potuisti"  [it.  ib.).  The  following  picture 
of  his  adversar\''s  personal  appearance,  and  the  admission  of  his  signal 
accomplishments  in  all  the  graces  of  a  prize-fighter,  ought  not  to  be  forgotten  : 

"Ttr    ISTIS    F.A.UCIBL'S,    ISTIS   LATERIBfS,    ISTA   GLADIATORI.^    TOTIfS 

CORPORIS  FIR.MIT.A.TE." — It.  ibidem. 

We  recommend  the  whole  discourse  (beyond  comparison  the  first  model  of 
classic  eloquence  in  existence,  and  the  most  powerful  cxposd  that  folly  and 
brutality  ever  received)  to  the  attentive  meditation  of  those  concerned. 

"  Xullo  luet  hoc  Antonius  aevo  ! 

In  the  course  of  Prout's  youthful  rambles  through  Italy,  we  find  that  he  has 
recorded  the  circumstances'of  a  devout  pilgrimage,  undertaken  by  him,  to  the 
very  spot  where  the  illustrious  orator — the  terror  of  all  Roman  ruffians,  from 
Clodius  to  Catiline,  from  Antony  to  Verres — w  as  cowardly  assassinated  by  the 
hero  of  the  Second  Philippic. "^     It  is  a  green  lane,  leading  off  the  via  Appia 

*  WTio  appears  to  have  been  in  his  day  the  "lady's  man  "—KaT  e^oxn'^-  We  know 
not,  however,  whether  /u;  was  fool  enough  to  talk  of  bringing  the  matrons  of  Rome  into 
the  senate-house. 


4i6  Tlie  Works  of  Father  Front. 

down  to  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean;  and  close  by  the  scene  of  the  disgrace- 
ful event  stands  to  the  present  day,  on  the  ruins  of  the  Formian  villa  which  had 
belonged  to  the  murdered  statesman,  an  hotel,  known  by  the  classic  designa- 
tion of  "  Albergo  di  Cicerone."  The  details  of  that  visit,  with  sundr}--  delect- 
able matters  appertaining  thereunto,  remain  in  our  "chest"  for  further  use, 
when  we  shall  have  to  entertain  our  readers  with  other  (and  collateral)  subjects; 
when  from  Horace  we  shall  pass  to  some  of  his  contemporaries. 

To  HoR.\CE  we  now  return.  In  HIM  the  dunces  and  bullies  of  Rome  found 
an  uncompromising  foe — equally  formidable  to  "  Masvius  the  blockhead  "  and 
to  "  Gorgonius  the  he-goat,"  to  "the  debauchi  Nomentanus"  and  to  "  Pan- 
tolabus  the  buffoon."  It  is,  however,  as  a  lyric  poet  that  Prout  chooses  to 
dwell  on  his  merits  ;  and  in  this,  as  in  most  matters,  we  recognize  the  profes- 
sional tendency  of  the  Father  to  peaceful  topics  and  inoffensise  disquisitions. 


Watergrasshill,  Ad  lavt  noctis  7'igilia7n. 

When  first  I  took  up  the  Songs  of  Horace,  with  a  view  to  record  my  imagin- 
ings thereanent  (for  the  benefit  of  my  parishioners),  it  occurred  to  me  that  some- 
thing in  the  shape  of  methodical  arrangement  would  not  be  amiss,  and  that 
these  miscellaneous  odes  would  come  more  acceptable  if  an  attempt  were 
made  at  classification.  In  this  department,  the  modems  have  a  decided  advan- 
tage over  the  writers  of  antiquity  ;  the  bump  of  "  order,"  as  it  relates  to  section 
and  subdivision,  being  of  comparatively  late  development.  Pagan  antiquity 
had  been  content,  ever  since  the  goddess  Flora  enamelled  the  earth  with  so 
many  charming  varieties  of  form  and  colour,  to  admire  them  for  their  verv-  con- 
fusion, and  to  revel  in  the  delightful  contrasts  they  afforded  ;  nor  do  we  learn, 
from  the  author  of  Genesis,  that  there  was  any  regular  system  of  botanical 
science  understood  by  Eve,  in  her  state  of  horticultural  innocence  :  it  was 
reserved  for  the  great  Dutchman,  Linnaeus,  to  methodize  the  beauty  and  to 
classify  the  fragrance  of  flowers.  My  old  friend  and  schoolfellow,  I'Abbe 
Moutardier,  who,  since  the  French  emigration,  resides  at  Lulworth  Castle, 
Dorsetshire  (where  the  Weld  family  have  gathered  round  him  a  small  but  well- 
regulated  congregation),  carries  the  practice  of  regular  classification  to  a  great 
extent  in  his  Angio-Gallic  addresses  from  the  modest  pulpit  of  the  castle-chapel : 
ex.  gr.,  "  My  frinds,  the  sermong  of  t\\  oday  vill  be  m.  four  pints ;  after  vich, 
I  vill  draw  for  you  a  little  mor-ale,"  hue.  In  pursuance  of  this  praiseworthy 
system  of  orderly  arrangement,  I  had  set  out  by  dividing  these  songs  under 
six  comprehensive  heads  :  i'  political  squibs ;  2'  convivial  and  bacchanalian  ; 
3°  love-songs  ;  4°  philosophical  effusions ;  5'  theological  hymns  ;  and,  6'  lastly, 
certain  odes  addressed  to  Virgil,  Maecenas,  (Sic,  dictated  by  the  pwctst/rietidship, 
and  bearing,  more  than  all  the  rest,  the  impress  of  earnestness  and  sincerity. 
The  catalogue  raisonnd,  made  out  after  this  fashion,  took  in,  I  found,  the  whole 
range  of  his  lyrics ;  and,  instead  of  the  wild  luxuriancy  of  uncontrolled  pro- 
ductiveness— the  very  wilderness  of  thought  and  sentiment  which  the  book  now 
presents— reduced  the  collection  to  all  the  symmetrj'of  a  civilized  parterre  laid 
out  by  Evelyn  or  Lcnotre. 

Much  meditating,  however,  on  the  peculiar  genius  of  the  poet,  and  fully 
aware  that,  with  reference  to  the  "  series juncturac^uc,"  he  practised  what  he 
preached,  I  concluded  that,  in  publishing  his  four  books  of  occasional  min- 
strelsy m  their  actual  order  of  succession,  totally  unobser\'ant,  as  he  evidently 
is,  of  chronological  form,  and  clearly  regardless  of  the  date  of  each  particu- 
lar composition,  he  must  have  been  guided  by  some  hidden  principle  of 
refined  taste,  applicable  to  the  precise  consecutive  position  assigned  to  every 
song.  Of  himself,  as  well  as  of  the  father  of  poetry,  it  may  be  safely  predicated 
that  nilmoliturinepte.    Hence,  on  maturer  consideration,  I  shrunk  from  inter- 


The  Songs  of  Horace,  417 


rupting  the  present  law  of  precedence,  established  by  recognized  authority  ; 
and  I  resolved  to  maintain  it  as  steadfastly  as  if  I  had  taken  a  regular  oath 
not  to  "weaken  or  disturb  the  line  of  succession"  in  the  harmony  of 
Horace  ...  I  have  ribt  yet  got  through  the  first  book.  If  I  recollect  ri^ht 
a  drinking  bout  "to  Varus  "  (numbered  ode  xviii.)  wound  up  the  last  paper  ; 
a  love-song  "to  Glycera"  (ode  xix.)  shall,  therefore,  usher  in  the  essay  of 
to-night. 

Horace  was  not  very  lucky  in  his  loves.  In  spite  of  all  the  fervour  with 
which  he  exalts  the  fascinations  and  chants  the  merits  of  the  fair  sex not- 
withstanding the  dehcacy  with  which  he  could  flatter,  and  the  sprightly 
ingenuity  with  which  he  could  amuse,  the  ladies  of  Rome,  he  appears,  from 
the  desponding  tenor  of  his  amaton,-  compositions,  to  have  made  but  small 
havoc  among  the  hearts  of  patncian  matrons.  These  ditties  are  mostly  attuned 
to  the  most  plaintive  strain,  and  are  generally  indicative  of  unrequited  attachment 
and  disappointed  hopes.  He  has  made  Posterity  the  coiifidantc  of  his  jealousy 
regarding  "  Pyrrha  ;  "  "  Lydia  "  forsakes  him  for  "Ielephus,"  who  was 
probably  a  stupid  life-guardsman,  measuring  five  feet  eleven;  "  Chloe  " 
runs  away  from  his  addresses,  begging  her  mother  to  say  she  is  "  yet  too  youno- 
to  form  an  engagement;"  he  records  the  perjured  conduct  of  "  Bakine^ 
towards  him  ;  laments  the  inconstancy  of  ' '  Xe.-era,"  the  hauteur  oi  "  Lyce  ;  " 
makes  an  abject  apology  to  "  Tyndaris,"  whose  pardon  we  do  not  find  that 
he  obtains;  he  invites  her  to  his  villa  :  we  don't  learn  that  she  accepted  the 
invitation. 

The  fact  is,  he  was  in  stature  a  dwarf,  with  a  huge  head,  a  /j  Quasi- 
modo ;  further  endowed  with  an  ungainly  prominence  of  abdomen;  eyes 
which  required  the  constant  application  of  unguents  and  collyria ;  was  pre- 
maturely bald,  like  Beranger — 

"Moi,  a  qui  la  sagesse 
A  fait  tomber  tous  les  cheveux ;  " 

and,  like  him,  he  might  break  forth  into  that  affecting  outburst  of  naif  despon- 
dency derived   from  the  consciousness  of  a  deformed  figure  : 

"  Elle,  est  SI  BELLE, 

Et  moi — et  moi — je  suis  si  laid  !" 

By  the  way,  to  Beranger's  immortal  credit  be  it  remarked,  that  he  is  the  only 
Fre?ichman  who  ever,  under  any  circumstances  of  personal  ugliness,  made  a 
similar  admission.  "  Mons.  Mayeux  "  fancied  himself  an  Adonis;  so  does 
M.  Thiers,  though  the  portraits  prove  him  to  be  what  Theodore  Hook  has 
imagined,  as  the  exact  symbol,  or  vera  ikwv  of  Tom  Moore  :  viz.  "something 
between  a  toad  and  a  Cupid." 

Still,  nothing  could  keep  Horace  from  tr}ing  his  fortune  among  the  girls. 
"  His  only  books  were  woman's  looks;  "  though  "  folly"  (as  in  Aloore's  case) 
was  positively  all  he  gathered  from  the  perusal.  Though  his  addresses  are 
repeatedly  rejected,  he  still  perseveres;  and,  in  spite  of  his  notorious  scepticism 
in  religious  matters,  he  actually  offers  up  a  propitiatory  sacrifice  to  Venus, 
in  the  hope  of  forwarding,  by  supernatural  agency,  the  object  of  his  desires. 
His  case,  in  truth,  appears  one  of  peculiar  hardship;  and  so  graphic  is  the 
picture  he  draws  of  his  hopeless  passion,  that  Racine  has  found  nothing  more 
powerful  v/herewith  to  represent  the  frenzied feeliuirs  of  Phaedra,  in  h;s  v.onder- 
ful  tragedy  of  that  name,  than  two  lines  borrowed  from  the  following  ode 

"  Ce  n'est  plus  une  ardeur  dans  mes  veines  cachee, 
C'est  Venus  toute  entiere  a  sa  proie  attache'e. 


ODE   XIX. 


DE  GLYCERA. 


Love's  unrelenting  Queen, 
With    Bacchl'S— Theban    maid!   thy  wapvard 
child 
Whene'er  I  tr>'  to  wean. 
My  heart,  from  vain  amours  and  follies  wild. 
Is  sure  to  intervene. 
Kindling  within  my  breast  some    passion  unfore- 
seen. 


I. 


Mater  sseva  Cupidinum, 
Thebanaeque  jubet 
Me  Semeles  puer, 

Et  lasciva  Licentia, 
Finitis  animum 
Reddere  amoribus. 


II. 

Glvcera's  dazzling  glance, 
That  with  voluptuous  light  my  vision  dims  - 

The  graces  that  enhance 
The  Parian  marble  of  ber  snow-white  limbs, 

Have  left  my  heart  no  chance 
Against  her  winning  wiles  and  playful  petulance. 


II. 

Urit  me  Glycerae  nitor 
Splendentis  Pario 
Alarmore  purius  : 

Urit  grata  protervitas, 
Et  vultus  nimium 
Lubricus  aspici. 


III. 

Say  not  that  Venus  dwells 
In  distant  Cvprus,  for  she  fills  my  breast, 

And  from  that  shrine  expels 
All  other  themes :  my  lyre,  by  love  possest, 
No  more  with  war-notes  swells. 
Nor    sings  of   Parthian    shaft,   nor    Scythian 
slaughter  tells. 


III. 

In  ma  tota  ruens  Venus 
Cyprum  deseruit  : 
Nee  patitur  Scythas, 

Et  versis  animosum  equis 
Parthum  dicere ;  nee 
Quae  nihil  attinent. 


IV. 

Come  hither,  slaves  !  and  pile 
An  altar  of  green  turf,  and  incense  bum  ; 

Strew  magic  vervain,  while 
I  pour  libations  from  a  golden  urn  : 
These  rites  may  reconcile 
The  goddess  of  fierce  love,  who  yet  may  deign  to 
smile. 


IV. 

Hie  vivum  mihi  cespitem,  hie 

Verbenas,  pueri. 

Ponite,  thuraque, 
Bimi  cum  patera  meri : 

Mactata  veniet 

Lenior  hostia. 


How  different  from  this  melancholy  love-sonnet,  "  made  to  his  mistress"  eye- 
brow," is  the  jovial  stvle  which  he  assumes  when  Mcecenus  has  promised  to  look 
in  on'his  nistic  dwelling,  on  his  road  to  some  seaport !  "A  friend  and  pitche  r  " 
seem  to  constitute  the  native  and  proper  element  of  Horace.  Mark  how  he  dis- 
ports himself  in  the  contemplation  of  the  prime  minister  of  Augustus  seated  by 
his  cheerful  hearth,  and  partaking;  of  such  homely  fare  as  the  Sabine  farm  could 
furnish  ;  insinuating  at  the  same  time,  without  the  least  appearance  of  cajoler>' 
or  toadyism,  one  of  the  most  ingenious  compliments  that  ever  statesman 
received'  from  dedicatory  poet  in  ancient  or  modem  times  !  Under  pretext  of 
specifying  the  e.xact  age  of  some  bottled  liquor,  which  he  promises  shall  be 
forthcomTng.  he  brings\ip  the  mention  of  a  fact  most  gratifying  to  the  feelings 
of  his  exalted  patron.    As  Tasso  has  it, 

"  E  quel  che  crcsce  sommo  pregio  all' opre 
L'  arte  che  tuito  fa  nulla  si  scuopre." 


ODE  XX.— "  POT-LUCK  "  WITH   HORACE. 


AD   M^CEXATUM. 


T. 


Since  thou,  ISI.^cekas,  nothing  loth, 

Under  the  bard's  roof-tree, 
Canst  drink  rough  wine  of  Sabine  growth, 

Here  stands  a  jar  for  thee  ! — 
The  Grecian-  delf  I  seal'd  myself, 

That  year  the  theatre  broke  forth, 

In  tribute  to  thy  sterling  worth. 

II. 

When  Rome's  glad  shout  the  welkin  fent, 

Along  the  Tiber  ran. 
And  rose  again,  by  Echo  sent. 

Back  from  Mount  Vatican'  ; — 
When  with  delight,  O  Roman  knight  ! 

Etruria  heard  her  oldest  flood 

Do  homage  to  her  noblest  blood. 


Vile  potabis  modicis  Sabinum 
Cantharis,  Graeca  quod  ego  ipse  testa 
Conditum  levi,  datus  in  theatro 
Quum  tibi  plausus, 


II. 

Care  Maecenas  eques,  ut  paterni 
Fluminis  ripse,  simul  et  jocosa 
Redderet  laudes  tibi  Vatican! 
Montis  imago. 


III. 

Czecubum  et  praelo  domitam  Caleno 
Tu  bibes  uvam  :  mea  nee  Falern^ 
Temperant  vites,  neque  Formiani 
Pocula  colles. 


III. 

Wines  of  Falerman  vintage,  friend, 

Thy  princely  cellar  stock  ; 
Bethink  thee,  shouldst  thou  condescend 

To  share  a  poet's  crock. 
Its  modest  shape,  Cajeta's  grape^ 

Hath  never  tinged,  nor  Formia's  hill 

Deign'J  with  a  purple  flood  to  fill. 

Followeth,  in  due  consecutive  order,  one  of  those  performances  which,  in  my 
catalogue  above  alluded  to,  I  had  set  down  as  one  of  the  "  hymns  theological. 
Our  poet,  besides  filling  at  the  court  of  Augustus  an  office  similar  to  the 
laureateship  of  old  Xahum  Tate,  of  birthday-ode  memory,  seems  to  have 
combined  with  that  responsible  situation  the  more  sacred  functions  of  Sternhold 
and  Hopkins.  The  "  Carmen  Soeculare"  was,  like  Southeys  "  Vision  of  Judg- 
ment," an  official  effusion  of  devout  loyalty  to  church  and  state.  This  hymn, 
recommending  (very  properlv)  the  worship  of  Diana  to  the  maidens  of  Rome, 
while  he  exhorts  the  Roman  vouth  to  reverence  Apollo,  must  have  been  com- 
posed about  the  year  u.c.  731,  when  scarcity,  combined  with  the  prospect  ot 
war,  threatened  the  countrv.  That  Persia  and  Great  Britain  should  be  made 
the  scapegoats  on  the  occasion  seems  natural  enough;  the  Jews  had  similar 
uncharitable  ideas,  as  may  be  gathered  from  the  Psalms  of  David  (Ixxix.  6,  and 
passim). 

ODE  XXL— AD   PUBEM   ROMAN  AM. 


I. 

Dianam  tenerae  dicite  virgines, 
Intonsum  pueri  dicite  Cvnthium, 
Latonamque  supreme 
Dilectam  penitus  Jovi. 

II. 

Vos  laetam  fluviis  et  nemorum  coma,  _ 
Qusecumque  aut  gelido  prominet  Algido, 
Nigris  aut  Erymanthi, 
Silvis  aut  viridis  Cragi. 


III. 

Vos  Tempe  totidem  tollite  laudibus, 
Natalemque,  mares,  Delon  ApoUonis, 
Insignemque  pharetra, 

Fraternaque  humerum  lyra. 

IV. 

Hie  helium  lachrymosum,  hsec   miseram 

famem,  .     .      ^ 

Pestemque  a  populo  et  prmcipe  L^SAKE, 
In  Persas  atque  Britannos, 
Vestra  motus  aget  prece. 


TO  THE   RISING  GENERATION   OF  ROME. 

I. 

Worship  Diana,  young  daughters  of  Italy  ! 

Youths  !  sing  Apollo— both  children  of  Jove  ; 
Honour  Latona,  their  mother,  who  mightily 

Triumph'd  of  old  in  the  Thunderer's  love. 

11. 

Maids  !  sing  the  Huntress,  whose  haunts  are  the  highlands. 

Who  treads,  in  a  buskin  of  silver^'  sheen. 
Each  forest-crown'd  summit  through  Greece  and  her  islands. 

From  dark  Erymanthus  to  Cragus  the  green. 

III. 

From  Tempe's  fair  vallej-,  by  Phcebus  frequented. 
To  Delos  his  birthplace — the  light  quiver  hung 

From  his  shoulders — the  lyre  that  his  brother  invented — 
Be  each  shrine  by  our  youth  and  each  attribute  sung. 

IV. 

May  your  prayers  to  the  regions  of  light  find  admittance 

On  C/ESAr's  behalf  ; — and  the  Deity  urge 
To  drive  from  our  land  to  the  Persians  and  Britons, 

Of  Fa.mine  the  curse  !  of  Bellon.\  the  scourge  ! 

That  he  considered  himself  the  object  of  special  solicitude  to  the  gods,  is 
very  perceptible  in  his  writings  ;  that  he  actually  believed  in  the  existence  of 
these  celestial  personages  is,  nevertheless,  as  nice  a  historical  problem  as  the 
pedigree  of  Perkin  W'arbeck  or  the  piety  of  O'Connell.  Like  Boniface,  how- 
ever, he  "  thrived  on  his  ale." 

"Di  me  tuentur :  dis  pietas  mea,"  &c. 

He  kept  his  skin  intact  [bene  ciiratix  cute),  kept  his  neighbours  in  good  humour, 
and  the  table  in  a  roar.  One  day,  having  extended  his  rambles  beyond  the 
boundary  of  his  farm,  humming  as  he  went  an  ode  "to  Lalage,"  which  we 
have  unfortunately  lost  (unless  it  be  the  fifth  of  the  second  book),  behold  !  an 
enormous  wolf  suddenly  stares  him  in  the  face,  and  as  precipitately  takes  to 
flight,  without  any  apparently  efficient  cause.  The  dogs,  according  to  Shake- 
speare, barked  at  Richard  ;  this  wolf  may  have  been,  probably,  frightened  by 
the  poet's  ugliness ;  for,  according  to  his  own  description,  he  was  a  regular 
scarecrow.  Nevertheless,  mark,  reader,  how  he  chooses  to  account  for  the 
miracle.  The  ode,  in  a  literary  point  of  view,  has  always  been  (and  most  de- 
servedly) adniired  :  "  Aristius  fuscus  '  was,  however,  a  sort  of  wag,  as  may  be 
gathered  from  the  satire  "  Ibam  via,  sacra,"  &c.  &c. 

ODE   XXII. 

AU   ARISTIL'M    FL'SCUM. 

I.  I. 

Aristus  !  if  thou  canst  secure  Integer  vitae  scelerisque  purus 

A  conscience  calm,  with  morals  pure,  Non  eget  Mauri  jaculis,  neque  arcu. 

Look  upwards  for  defence  I  abjure  Nee  venenatis  gravida  sagittis, 

All  meaner  craft—  Fusee,  pharetra  ; 

The  arc  and  quiver  of  the  Mock, 

And  poison'd  shaft. 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


421 


II. 

\\Tiat  though  thy  perilous  path  lie  traced 
O'er  bui  ning  Afric"s  boundless  waste  .  . 
Of  rugged  CaucasI's  the  guest, 

Or  doom'd  to  travel 
ViTiere  fabulous  rivers  of  the  East 

Their  course  unravel  1   .  .  . 

III. 

Under  my  Sabine  woodland  shade, 
jNIusing  upon  my  Grecian  maid, 
Unconsciously  of  late  I  stray'd 

Through  glen  and  meadow. 
When,  lo  I  a  ravenous  wolf,  afraid, 

Fled  from  my  shadow. 

IV. 

No  monster  of  such  magnitude 

Lurks  in  the  depth  of  Dauma's  wood, 

Or  roams  through  Lvbia  unsubdued 

The  land  to  curse — 
Land  of  a  fearful  lion-brood 

The  wither'd  nurse. 

V. 

Waft  me  away  to  deserts  wild. 
Where  vegetation  never  smiled, 
Where  siuishine  never  once  beguiled 

The  drear}-  day, 
But  winters  upon  winters  piled 

For  aye  delay. 

VI. 

Place  me  beneath  the  torrid  zone, 
^^'here  man  to  dwell  was  never  known, 
I'd  cherish  still  one  thought  alone. 

Maid  of  my  choice  ! 
The  smile  of  thy  sweet  lip — the  tone 

Of  thy  sweet  voice  I 


II. 

SIve  per  Syrtes  iter  aestuosas, 
Sive  facturus  per  inhospitalem 
Caucasum,  vel  quae  loca  fabulosus 
Lambit  Hydaspes. 


III. 

Namque  me  silva  lupus  in  Sabina, 
Dum  meam  canto  Lalagen,  et  ultra 
Terminum  curis  vagor  expeditis, 
Fugit  inermem : 


IV. 

Quale  portentum  neque  militaris 
Daunia  in  latis  alit  esculetis  ; 
Kec  Jubae  tellus  general,  leonum 
Arida  nutrix. 


V. 

Pone  me  pigrls  ubi  nulla  campis 
Arbor  aestiva  recreatur  aura, 
Quod  latus  mundi  nebulae  malusque 
Jupiter  urgct ; 


VL 

Pone  sub  curru  nimium  propinqui 
Solis,  in  terra  domibus  negata  : 
Dulce  ridentem  Lalagen  amabo, 
Dulce  loquentem. 


Here  is  another  love  ditty,  and,  as  usual,  it  places  on  record  some  discomfi- 
ture of  the  poet  in  his  attempt  to  play  V  homme  d  bonnes  fortunes. 


ODE  XXIII.— A 


REMONSTRANCE 
BASHFUL. 


TO   CHLOE   THE 


Wliy  wilt  thou,  Chloe,  fly  me  thus? 

The  yearling  kid 

Is  not  more  shy  and  timorous, 

Our  woods  amid, 

Seeking  her  dam  o'er  glen  and  hill. 

While  all  her  frame  vain  terrors  thrill. 

II. 

Should  a  green  lizard  chance  to  stir 

Beneath  the  bush — 
Should  Zephyr  through  the  mountain-fir 
Disporting  gush — 
With  sudden  fright  behold  her  start. 
With  trembling  knees  and  throbbing  heart. 


I. 

Vitas  hinnuleo 
i\Ie  similis,  Chloe, 
Quaerenti  pavidam 
Montibus  aviis 
Matrem,  none  sine  vano 
Aiu-arum  et  silvas  metu  : 

n. 

Nam,  sen  mobilibus 
Vepris  inhorruit 
Ad  ventum  foliis, 
Seu  virides  rubum 
Dimovere  lacertae, 

Et  corde  et  genibus  tremit. 


422  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 

III.  III. 

And  canst  thou  think  me,  maiden  fair  !  Atqui  non  ego  te, 

A  tiger  grim?  Tigris  ut  aspera, 

A  Lybian  lion,  bent  to  tear  Getulusve  leo, 

Thee  limb  by  limb?  Frangere  persequor. 

Still  canst  thou  haunt  thy  mother's  shade,  Tandem  desine  matrem 

Ripe  for  a  husband,  blooming  maid  ?  Tempestiva  sequi  viro. 

No  "eleg\',"  in  all  antiquity,  appears  to  have  given  such  general  satisfaction 
as  that  which  followed  Qlinxtilius  to  the  tomb.  History  would  have  taken 
no  notice  of  his  name,  but  Horace  has  secured  him  immortal  celebrity.  All 
we  know  of  him  is  contained  in  the  chronicle  of  Eusebius,  quoted  by  St. 
Jerome,  and  merely  refers  to  the  date  of  his  death  ;  nor  would  the  holy  father 
probably  have  mentioned  him  at  all,  but  for  the  eloquent  requiem  chanted  over 
his  grave.  It  possesses  ineffable  sweetness  in  the  original ;  the  tender  melan- 
choly diffused  throughout  the  composition  is  still  more  saddened  by  the 
absence  of  anything  like  hope  in  a  future  state  of  existence,  or  belief  in  a 
world  to  come,  which  was  totally  undreamt  of  in  the  Horatian  system  of  philo- 
sophy. David's  elegy  over  Saul  and  Jonathan  is  clouded  by  the  same  gloomy 
misgivings  as  to  the  chances  of  a  blessed  futurity :  yet,  what  can  be  more  beau- 
tiful than  the  Hebrew  poet  s  exclamation — 

"  Let  the  dew  never  fall  on  the  hills  where  the  pride 
Of  thy  warriors.  O  Israel  !  lies  slain  : 
They  were  lovely  in  life  ;  and,  oh  mark  !  how  the  tide 
Of  their  hearts'  blood  hath  mingled  again  !  " 

Milton's  "  Lycidas  ;"  Burns's  splendid  effusion  over  Captain  Henderson  ;  Mal- 
herbe's 

"  Rose  elle  a  vecu  ce  que  \nvent  les  roses 
•  L'espace  d'un  matin  ! " 

Pope's  "  Unfortunate  Lady,"  and  Wolfe's  "  Funeral  of  Sir  John  Moore,"  all 
deserve  to  be  commemorated  in  connection  with  this  ode  of  Horace.  Nor 
should  I  omit  to  notice  {honoris  caus'i)  Gray's  elaborately  mournful  "Country 
Churchyard,"  in  which  he  has  gathered  into  one  sepulchral  urn  the  ashes  of  all 
the  human  race,  and  mingled  the  tears  of  all  mankind  in  one  grand  "  lachry- 
matory." 

ODE  XXIV. 

AD   VIRGILR-.M.      DEFLET   QUIXCTILII   MORTEM. 
I. 

Quis  desiderio  sit  pudor  aut  modus  tam  cari  capitis  ?    Przecipe  lugubres 
Cantus,  Melpomene,  cui  liquidam  pater  vocem  cum  cithara  dedit. 

II. 

Ergo  Quinctilium  perpetuus  sopor  urget  !  cui  Pudor,  et  Justitiae  soror, 
Incorrupta  Fides,  nudaque  Veritas,  quando  ullum  invenient  parem? 

III. 

Multis  ille  bonis  flebllis  occidit  ;  nuUi  flebilior  quam  tibi,  Virgili  ! 
Tu  frustra  pius,  heu  !  non  ita  creditum  poscis  Quinctilium  Deos. 

IV. 

Quid  !  si  Threicio  blandius  Orpheo  auditam  moderere  arboribus  fidem, 
Num  vanae  redeat  sanguis  imagini,  quam  virga  semel  horrida, 


The  Songs  of  Horace,  423 


Non  lenis  precibus  fata  recludere  nigro  compulerit  Mercurius  gregi? 
Durum  !  sed  levius  fit  patientia  quidquid  corrigere  est  nefas. 


TO  VIRGIL.— A   CONSOLATORY  ADDRESS. 

I. 

Why  check  the  full  outburst  of  sorrow?     Why  blush 

To  weep  for  the  friend  we  adored  ? 
Raise  the  voice  of  lament !  let  the  swollen  tear  gush  ! 
Bemoan  thee,  Melpomene,  loudly  !  nor  hush 

The  sound  of  thy  lute's  liquid  chord  ! 

n. 

For  low  lies  QriN'CTiLius,  tranced  in  that  sleep 

That  issue  hath  none,  nor  sequel. 
Let  Candolr,  with  all  her  white  sisterhood,  weep — 
Truth,  Meekness,  and  Jlstice,  his  memory  keep — 

For  when  shall  they  find  his  equal  ? 

III. 

■Though  the  wise  and  the  good  may  bewail  him,  yet  none 

O'er  his  clay  sheds  the  tear  more  truly 
Than  3'ou,  beloved  Virgil  !     You  deem'd  him  your  own  : 
You  mourn  his  companionship. — 'Twas  but  a  loan, 

Which  the  gods  have  withdrawn  unduly. 

IV. 

Yet  not  though  Eurydice's  lover  had  left 

Thee  a  legacy,  friend,  of  his  song  ! 
Couldst  thou  warm  the  cold  image  of  life-blood  bereft, 
Or  force  Death,  who  robb'd  thee,  to  render  the  theft. 

Or  bring  back  his  shade  from  the  throng. 


Which  Mercury  guides  with  imperative  wand. 

To  the  banks  of  the  fatal  ferry. — 
'Tis  hard  to  endure  ; — but  'tis  wrong  to  despond  ; 
For  patience  may  deaden  the  blow,  though  beyond 

Thy  power,  my  friend,  to  parry. 

Flowers  have,  at  all  times,  suggested  hints  for  metaphor  and  allegory.  Poets 
cannot  get  on  at  all  without  constant  reference  to  botanical  matters  ;  and 
Flora,  by  right,  should  have  been  one  of  the  Muses.  A  crazy  German  writer 
(one  Ludwig  Tiegg)  maintains,  that  "the  man  who  has  no  taste  for  posies 
cannot  have  God's  grace  :"  a  sort  of  parody  on  something  about  music  in  Shake- 
speare. Another  mad  sentimentalist,  from  the  same  district,  defines  woman 
to  be  "  something  between  a  flower  and  an  angel."  In  fact,  the  "floridstyle  " 
cannot  be  well  got  up  without  a  due  admixture  of  such  fancies,  no  more  than 
a  plum-pudding  without  plums.  Ask  Tom  Moore,  for  example,  how  he  could 
manage,  if  deprived  of  these  gay  and  gaudy  materials  for  his  concetti  f  He 
might,  perhaps,  tell  you  that  he  still  would  have  rainboius,  stars,  crystals, 
pearls,  butterflies,  and  such  other  "  glittering  glories,"  but,  without  Covent 
Garden  Market,  he  must  necessarily  be  at  a  loss  to  carry  on  his  business ;  for 
his  original  stock  in  trade  would  be  very  soon  exhausted.  Even  in  the  flower 
department   he  is  obliged  to  borrow.     Anacreon  and  Horace  had,  long  ago, 


4' 


The 


Works 


of  Father  Proiit. 


both  hit  on  an  idea  which  he  has  appropriated,  without  the  sHghtest  scruple  or 
acknowledgment,  in  a  well-known  melody,  of  which  he  has  stolen  the  tune 
from  the  "  Groves  of  Blarney,"  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  spoiled  it  by  some  out- 
landish variations  of  his  own. 


PoSov  Ai'aKpeovTOS, 


Movov  0epov?  po5(oi'  /utoc 
•Tovt'  vcna-ov  fxev  avQii' 
IIa(rat  re  icat  eraipat 
A77ft)A.ecrar70" 


ODE  XXV. 


MOORE  S   ROGUERY. 


'Tis  the  last  rose  of  sitrnjiter 
I. eft  blooming  alone — 

A II  fier  loz'ely  coinpanio7is 
A  re  faded  and  gone ! 


HORATII    ROSARIUM. 
I. 

Eheu  rosarum  floruit  ultima  I 
Vel  mille  nuper  cincta  sorori- 
bus, 
At  nunc  amicarum  cohorti 
Floribus  et  sociis  super- 
stes  I 


t. 

Ov   TL 

Po6a)i',  o/aoL'  y   arfi-aL 
OfjLOv  T€  Kttc  epevdeiv' 


II. 

Xo  forcer  of  Jicr  kindred. 
No  rosebud,  is  nigh. 

To  reflect  back  her  bbislies. 
Or  give  sigh  for  sigh. 


II. 

Nee  una  mansit  conscia  quae 

prope 
Suspiriorum  suave  olentium, 
Suspiret  ultro — quae  rubenti 
Erubeat,  pia  frons,  vicis- 
sim. 


En-et  OavovTO  KoXat 
A—ekde '  crvv  KoXaicn 
I6ou  ae  xp-q  KaOevOsiv' 


III. 

I'll  not  leave  tliee,  thou  lone 
one. 

To  pine  on  the  stem  ; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping., 

Go  sleep  thotc  with  tlievt. 


III. 

Non  te  relinquam  stemmate, 

_  lugubre. 
Quae    singulari     fers     caput, 
^  unica  ! 

lere  dormitum  sodales, 
Tu    ceteris    comes    ito — 
dormi  ! 


2c?  evipofuj?  creflevras 

Ottov  veKpai  re  Koafxov 
Ktjttoio  crat  eratpat 


IV. 

Thjis  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  tlie  bed. 
Where     thy    mates    of    tJie 
garden 
Lie  scentless  a  fid  dead. 


IV. 

Sparsis  amica  sic  foliis  manu, 
Finire      tristes     pergo     tibi 
moras  ; 
Siccis  odoratas  per  hortum 
Frondibus     i    superadde 
frondes. 


OuTw?  re  Kai  cx^eAXev 
'Ta\vv  (^i.\r)  e—fcrOai 
0-av   fxapaiviTai    <J)uAAa 

(^cAiTj;'      EpojTO? 
Kvk\ov  t'  arro  (^aeii'ou 
IIiTTOvo'ii'  Ot  cr^Lapaydoi.. 


Ai  Kopiiai,  Tis  otos 

T0VTa>  CKUf  6(\01T0 

Kocr/ioj  vaiiiv  (prjixot; 


V. 

So  soon  may  I  follow 

When  frie7idships  d-scay, 

Andfrom  loz'e's  shining  circle 
Tlie  gems  drop  away. 


VI. 

Wh£7t       true       Jiearts      lie 
wither' d. 
And  fond  ones  areflowti^ 
Oh,  who  would  inhnl>it 
This  bleak  world  alone  ? 


V. 

Et  mi  sit  olim   sors   eadem, 

precor  I 
Quando  sodales,  quaeque  mi- 
cantia, 
Ornant  amicorum  coronam 
Gemmata,     depereunt  — 
perire  ! 

VI. 

Abrepta  fate  dissociabili 
Quando  tot  eheu  !  corda  jacent 
humi 
Quis    poscat    annos  ?    vita 
talis 
Nonne   foret    mera    soli- 
tude ? 


TJie  Songs  of  Horace. 


425 


How  much  more  creditable  and  gentlemanly  has  been  the  conduct  of  an  old 
English  song-writer,  George  Herbert,  who,  having  occasion  to  work  out  the 
same  thought,  scorns  to  copy  with  servile  fidehty  the  Greek  or  Roman  lyric  ;  but, 
giving  it  a  new  form  altogether,  makes  it,  as  far  as  possible,  his  own  property. 
Here  is  the  canzonet ;  and  any  one,  who  has  the  slightest  pretension  to  a  taste 
for  antique  simplicity,  must  see  how  far  superior  it  is  to  Aloores  artificial  com- 
position : 

"  I  made  a  posie  while  the  day  ran  by — 
Here  will  I  smell  my  remnant  out,  and  tie 

My  life  within  this  band. 
But  Time  did  beckon  to  the  flowers,  and  they 
By  noon  most  cunningly  did  steal  away, 
And  wither  in  my  hand. 

Farewell,  dear  flowers  I  sweetly  your  time  ye  spent ; 
Fit  while  ye  hved  for  smell  or  ornament. 

And,  after  death,  for  cures. 
I  follow  straight,  without  complaint  or  grief; 
And,  if  my  scent  be  good,  I  care  not  if 

It  be  as  short  as  yours." 

The  date  of  the  subsequent  ode  is  clearly  fixed,  by  the  allusion  it  contains 
to  the  troubles  occasioned  in  the  northern  parts  of  the  empire  by  the  pro- 
ceedings of  King  Teridates.  It  is  addressed  to  LAMr.\,  a  Roman  general, 
who  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  peninsular  war  \bdlo  Cantah-ico),  and  was 
at  that  time  enjoying  his  half-pay  in  or  about  TivoU. 

ODE  XXVI.— FRIENDSHIP  AND    POETRY  THE   BEST 
ANTIDOTES   TO   SORROW. 


ANNO    AB    U.C.    730. 

Air—''  Fill  the  bumper  fair." 


I. 


Sadness— I  who  live 

Devoted  to  the  Muses, 
To  the  wild  wind  give, 

To  waft  where'er  it  chooses  ; 
Deigning  not  to  care 

\\  hat  savage  chief  be  chosen 
To  reign  beneath  ''the  bear," 

O'er  fields  for  ever  frozen. 


I. 

Musis  amicus 
Tristitiam  et  m^etus 
Tradam  protervis 
In  mare  Creticum 
Portare  ventis. — 
Quis  sub  arcto 
Re.\  gelida; 
Metuatur  orae, 


II. 

Let  Teridates  rue 

The  march  of  Roman  legions, 
While  I  my  path  pursue 

Through  poesy's  calm  regions — 
Bidding  the  ^Muse,  who  drinks 

From  fountains  unpolluted, 
To  weave  with  flowery  links 

A  wreath,  to  Friendship  suited. 


II. 

Quid  Teridatem 
Terreat,  unice 
Securus.     O  quae 
Fontibus  integris 
Gaudes,  apricos 
Kecte  flores, 
Kecte  meo 
L.\Mi/E  coronam. 


III. 

For  gentle  Lami.a.'s  brow. — 
O  Muse  melodious  I  sweetly 

Echo  his  praise  ;  for  thou 
Alone  canst  praise  him  fitly. 


III. 

Pimplei  dulcis. 
Nil  sine  te  mei 
Possunt  honores  ; 
Hunc  fidibus  novis. 


42S 


1  lie   Works  of  Father  Front. 


III. 

Meantime  rhe  grey  ferrjinan 

Ferried  him  o'er, 
And  the  crazy  old  bark 

Touch'd  the  Stygian  shore  ; 
There  old  Bibo  got  out. 

Quite  unable  to  stand, 
And  he  jostled  the  ghosts 

As  they  crowded  the  strand. 


III. 

Sed  interim  pigrd 

Transvehitur  rate, 
QuEE  ripd  mox  nigrd 

Sistit  delicate  : 
In  littore  statim, 

Exoritur  scena, 
Umbras  cater\-atim 

Disturbat  arena. 


IV. 

"  Have  a  care  !  "  cried  out  Charon  ; 

"  Have  a  care  1  'tis  not  well : 
For  remember  you're  dead, 

And  your  soul  is  in  hell." 


IV. 

Cui  Charox  de  nave  : 
"  Hie  Orcus  est,  homo  .' 

Ne  titubes  cave 
Plutonis  in  domo." 


Moral. 

"  I'm  in  hell,"  replied  Bino ; 

'  ■  Well  I  know  by  the  sign  :- 
Twas  a  hell  upon  earth 

To  be  v.-antin?  of  wine." 


L'Envoy. 

"Plutonis  caverna 
Parebat  viventi, 

Si  quando  tabema 
Deerat  shienti." 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  429 


XXIV. 

[Fraser  s  Magazine,  October,  1836.) 


[Prout's  fourth  batch  of  the  Songs  of  Horace  appeared  in  the  number  of  Fraser  other- 
wise notable  by  reason  of  its  containing  Croquis'  thoughtful  portrait,  book  in  hand,  of 
Lord  LjTidhurst,  author  of  "  Summary  of  the  Session."] 


Decade  the  Foueth, 

"  Horatii  curiosa  feHcitas." 

Petron.  Arbiter,  cap.  iiS. 

"  D'  un  si  vivace 
Splendido  colorir,  d'  un  si  fecondo 
SubUme  immaginar,  d'  una  si  ardita 
FeHcita  sicura 
Ahro  mortal  non  arrichi  natura." 

Abbate  Metastasio,  Opera,  torn.  xii.     Firenze,  i8ig. 

"Sublime,  familier,  solide,  enjouye,  tendre, 
Aise,  profond,  naif,  et  fin  ; 
Vive,  Horace,  avant  tout !  I'univers  pour  I'entendre 
Aime  a  redevenir  Latin." 

La  ^Iotte,  Pocs.  Leg. 

"  When  Alba  warr'd  with  Rome  for  some  disputed  frontier  farms. 
Three  Horaces  gain'd  fatherland  ascendency  in  arms  ; 
A  single-handed  champion  now  amid  the  IjtIc  throng. 
One  of  the  name,  stands  forth  to  claim  supremacy  in  song." 

Barry  Cornwall, 

When'  the  celebrated  lame  poet,  Paddy  Kelly,  had  the  honour  of  being  intro- 
duced to  George  the  Fourth,  on  that  monarch's  M://gra7.w':i;/o-  \isk  to  Dublin 
(an  honour  extended  to  several  other  distinguished  natives,  such  as  Falvey  the 
sweep,  Jack  Lawless  the  orator,  Daniel  Donnelly  the  boxer,  and  another 
Daniel,  who  of  late  years  has  practised  a  more  profitable  system  of  boxi/ig),  his 
majesty  expressed  himself  desirous  of  personally  witnessing  an  exhibition  of 
the  bard's  extemporaneous  talent,  having  heard  many  marvellous  accounts  of 
the  facility  with  which  his  genius  was  wont  to  vent  itself  in  unpremeditated 
verse.     The  Hibernian  improvvisatore  forthwith  launched  out  into  a  dithy- 


III. 

Meantime  the  grey  ferryman 

Ferried  him  o'er, 
And  the  crazy  old  bark 

Touch'd  the  Stygian  shore  ; 
There  old  Bieo  got  out, 

Quite  unable  to  stand. 
And  he  jostled  the  ghosts 

As  they  crowded  the  strand. 


III. 

Sed  interim  pigra 

Transvehitur  rate, 
Quje  ripa  mox  nigra 

Sistit  delicate  : 
In  littore  statim, 

Exoritur  scena, 
Umbras  catervatim 

Disturbat  arena. 


IV. 

"  Have  a  care  !  "  cried  out  Charon 
"  Have  a  care  I  'tis  not  well  : 

For  remember  you're  dead. 
And  your  soul  is  in  hell." 


IV. 

Cui  Charox  de  nave  : 
"  Hie  Orcus  est,  homo  ! 

Ne  titubes  cave 
Plutonis  in  domo." 


Moral. 

"  I'm  in  hell,"  replied  EiP.o; 

'■  Well  I  know  by  the  sign  : — 
Twas  a  hell  upon  earth 

To  be  wanting  of  wine. " 


L' Envoy. 

"Plutonis  caverna 
Parebat  viventi, 

Si  quando  taberna 
Deerat  siiienti." 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  429 


XXIV. 

[Fraser's  Magazine,  October,  1836.) 


[Prout's  fourth  batch  of  the  Songs  of  Horace  appeared  in  the  number  of  Fraser  other- 
wise notable  by  reason  of  its  containing  Croquis'  thoughtful  portrait,  book  in  hand,  of 
Lord  Lyndhurst,  author  of  "  Summary  of  the  Session."] 


Decade  the  Fourth. 

"  Horatii  curiosa  fellcitas." 

Petron.  Arbiter,  cap.  iiS. 

"  D'  un  si  vivace 
Splendido  colorir,  d'  un  si  fecondo 
Sublime  immaginar,  d'  una  si  ardita 
Felicita  sicura 
Altro  mortal  non  arrichi  natura." 

Abbate  AIetastasio,  Opera,  torn.  xii.     Firenze,  i8ig. 

"Sublime,  familier,  solide,  enjouye,  tendre, 
Aise,  profond,  na'if,  et  fin  ; 
Vive,  Horace,  avant  tout !  I'univers  pour  I'entendre 
Aime  a  redevenir  Latin." 

La  Motte,  Pocs.  Leg. 

"  When  Alba  warr'd  with  Rome  for  some  disputed  frontier  farms. 
Three  Horaces  gain'd  fatherland  ascendency  in  arms  ; 
A  single-handed  champion  now  amid  the  lyric  throng, 
One  of  the  name,  stands  forth  to  claim  supremacy  in  song." 

Barry  Cornwall. 

When  the  celebrated  lame  poet,  Paddy  Kelly,  had  the  honour  of  being-  intro- 
duced to  George  the  Fourth,  on  that  monarch's  Mulgravizuig  visit  to  Dublin 
(an  honour  extended  to  several  other  distinguished  natives,  such  as  Falvey  the 
sweep,  Jack  Lawless  the  orator,  Daniel  Donnelly  the  boxer,  and  another 
Daniel,  who  of  late  years  has  practised  a  more  profitable  system  of  boxing),  his 
majesty  expressed  himself  desirous  of  personally  witnessing  an  exhibition  of 
the  bard's  extemporaneous  talent,  having  heard  many  marvellous  accounts  of 
the  facility  with  which  his  genius  was  wont  to  vent  itself  in  unpremeditated 
verse.     The  Hibernian  improvvisatore  forthwith  launched  out  into  a  dithy- 


430  The  Works  of  FatJicr  Front. 


ramb,  of  which  the  burden  appeared  to  be  a  panegyric  on  Byron  and  Scott, 
wliose  praises  he  sang  in  terms  of  fer\-id  eulogy;  winding  up  the  entire  by  what 
certainly  seemed  to  his  illustrious  auditor  a  somehow  abrupt  and  startling  con- 
clusion, viz.  : 

"  'Twould  take  a  Byron  and  a  Scott,  I  tell  ye, 
Roll'd  up  in  one,  to  make  a  Pat  O'Kelly  !  " 

Doubtless  such  Tvas  the  honest  conviction  of  the  Irish  rhapsodist ;  and  if  so, 
he  had  an  undeniable  right  to  put  his  opinion  on  record,  and  publish  it  to  the 
world.  Are  we  not,  every  week,  favoured  by  some  hebdomadal  Longinus 
with  his  peculiar  and  private  ideas  on  the  sublime  ;  of  which  the  last  new 
tragedy,  or  the  latest  volume  of  verse  (blank  or  otherwise),  is  pronounced  the 
finest  model  ?  What  remedy  can  the  public  have  against  the  practice  of  such 
imposition?  None  whatever,  until  some  scientific  man  ("the  Rev.  Mr.  Magawly, 
for  instance,  of  the  British  Association)  shall  achieve  for  literature  what  has 
been  done  for  the  dairy,  and  invent  a  critical  "  galactometer  ;  "  by  which  the 
exact  density  of  milk-and-water  poetry  may  be  clearly  and  undeniably  ascer- 
tained. At  present,  indeed,  so  variable  seems  the  standard  of  poetical  merit — 
so  confused,  unsettled,  and  contradictory  the  canons  of  criticism — that  we  begin 
to  believe  true  what  Edmund  Burke  says  of  Taste  among  the  moderns  : — that 
"  its  essence  is  of  too  ethereal  a  nature  for  us  ever  to  hope  it  will  submit  to 
bear  the  chains  of  definition." 

In  this  vague  and  unsatisfactory  state  of  things,  Prout  has,  perhaps,  adopted 
the  safest  course,  and  "  chosen  the  better  part."  He  would  appear  to  reser\'e 
the  question  of  his  approval,  and  confine  the  range  of  his  admiration  within 
the  happy  circle  of  recognized,  incontestable,  and  transcendent  excellence. 

All  this  he  has  found  supereminently  in  the  canonized  object  of  these  running 
commentaries  which  form  the  current  series  of  his  "papers."  He  stands  not 
alone  in  haihng  therein  Horace,  prince  of  all  lyric  poets,  of  every  age  and 
clime.  In  so  doing,  he  merely  bows  to  the  general  verdict  of  mankind  ;  which, 
when  fairly  collected  and  plainly  uttered,  constitutes  a  final  and  irrevocable 
award.  St.  Augustine  applied  this  test  to  the  detection  of  surreptitious  doc- 
trines, and  the  ascertaining  of  Catholic  orthodoxy— "  ^/^£»(/  semper  quod 
UBiQUE,  qtiod  ab  OMNIBUS  tradiiuiii  est."  Geometry  and  logarithms  may 
admit  of  being  demonstrated  in  the  abstract  nakedness  of  their  intrinsic  evi- 
dences ;  but  in  poetry,  as  in  religion,  the  experience  of  every  day  sufticiently 
shows  the  proneness  of  individual  judgment  to  strange  and  fantastic  theories, 
which  can  only  be  rectified  by  a  reference  to  the  universal  sentiment— the  scnsus 
comnuuiis  of  the  human  species.  Prout  always  paid  deference  to  time-honoured 
reputations.  Great  was,  hence,  his  veneration  for  the  "venerable  Bede;  "  and, 
notwithstanding  the  absence  of  aU  tangible  evidences,  most  vigorously  did  he 
admire  the  "admirable  Crichton."  In  Aristotle  he  persisted  to  recognize 
tiie  great  master-mind  of  metaphysics  ;  he  scouted  the  Scandinavian  mysticism 
of  Kant  :— sufficient  for  him  was  the  cosmogony  of  MosES ;  he  laughed  to 
utter  scorn  the  conjectures  of  geology. 

This  reminds  us  of  the  "  astounding  discovery"  with  v.hich  Dr.  Buckl.xnd 
is  reported  to  have  lately  electrified  the  Bristolia'ns.  Ephraim  Jenkinson's  ghost 
must  have  heard  with  jealousy,  on  the  banks  of  the  Styx,  the  shouts  of  ap- 
plause which  echoed  the  doctor's  assertion  on  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  that  the 
world  had  already  lasted  "  millions  of  years  !"  that  a  "new  version  of  Genesis" 
would  be  shortly  required,  since  a  new  light  "had  been  thrown  on  Hebrew 
scholarship  !  "  The  doctor's  declaration  is  very  properly  described  as  the  only 
"  originalf  act  "  elicited  at  the  meeting.  What  fun,  to  hear  a  mite  in  the  cavity 
of  a  Gloucester  cheese  gravely  reasoning  on  the  streaks  (or  strata)  of  red  and 
yellow,  and  finally  concluding,  all  things  duly  considered,  that  tlie  invoice  of 
the  farmer  who  made  it  bears  a  w  rong  date,  and  that  the  process  of  fabricating 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  43 1 

the  cheese  in  question  must  have  begun  as  long  ago,  at  least,  as  the  days  of 
the  heptarchy. 

There  is  often  more  strict  logic,  and  more  downright  common  sense,  con- 
tained in  a  professed  poet's  view  of  nature  and  her  works,  than  in  the  gravest 
and  most  elaborate  mystifications  of  soi-disaui  philosophy.  We  shall,  there- 
fore, hesitate  not  to  place  in  contraposition  to  this  Bucklandish  theory  the 
ideas  of  Chateaubriand  on  the  subject-matter,  leaving  to  any  dispassionate 
thinker  to  say  on  which  side  reason  and  analogy  preponderate.  "  They  tell 
us, "quoth  the  noble  author  of  "Genie  du  Christianisme,"  whose  exact  words  we 
cannot  remember  at  this  time  of  the  evening,  "  that  the  earth  is  an  old  tooth- 
less hag,  bearing  in  every  feature  the  traces  of  caducity  ;  and  that  si.x  thousand 
years  are  not  enough  to  account  for  the  hidden  marks  of  age  discoverable  to 
the  eyes  of  Science: — but  has  it  never  occurred  to  them,  that,  in  producing 
this  globe  for  tlie  dwelling  of  man,  it  m.ay  have  suited  Providence  to  create  all 
its  component  parts  in  the  stage  of  full  maturity,  just  as  zAdam  himself  was 
called  into  being  at  the  full  age  of  manhood,  without  passing  through  the  pre- 
paratory process  of  infancy,  boyhood,  or  youth  ?  When  God  planted  the  soil  of 
Paradise,  think  ye  that  the  oak  of  a  hundred  years'  growth  was  wanting  to 
shed  its  mighty  sliadow  over  our  first  parents  ?  or,  are  we  to  believe  that  every 
tree  was  a  mere  slirub,  just  emerging  from  the  ground?  Was  the  Liox  whom 
Milton  describes  so  graphically,  as 

'  Pawing  to  get  free 
His  hinder  parts,' 

nothing  but  a  new-bom  cub  ?  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  hold  that  the  grove  waved 
its  majestic  pines,  already  bearing  among  their  topmost  branches  the  ready- 
built  nest  of  the  rook  and  the  young  family  of  the  dove;  that  the  sheep  browsed 
on  the  green  sward,  with  her  attendant  lamb;  and  that  the  bold  rock  overhung 
the  running  stream,  with  the  manthng  ivy  already  twining  through  its  crevices, 
and  exhibiting  the  marks  of  age  on  its  hoary  surface.  Did  not  the  Creator 
understand  the  effect  and  the  beauty  of  what  we  are  agreed  to  call  the  pictu- 
resque f  or,  in  his  Eden,  did  He  overlook  the  graces  of  landscape?  What  a 
clumsy  artificer  these  men  would  represent  their  Maker  to  be,  were  we  to  enter- 
tain their  notions  of  cosmogony  !  What  a  crude  and  ill-assorted  planet  would 
they  describe  as  issuing  from  the  hands  of  Omnipotence,  so  as  to  require  the 
operation  of  time  and  the  influence  of  chemical  agents  to  bring  it  to  perfec- 
tion. '  Xon  !  non  !  le  jour  meme  que  I'ocean  epandit  ses  premieres  vagues 
sur  nos  rives,  il  baigna,  n'en  doutons  point,  des  ecueils  dejaronges  par  lesflots, 
des  greves  semees  de  debris,  de  coquillages,  et  des  caps  decharnes,  qui  sou- 
tenaient  contre  les  eaux  les  rivages  croulans  delaterre;   sans  cette  vieillesse 

originaire,  il  n'y  aurait  eu  ni  pompe  ni  majeste  dans  I'univers.'  " ' '  The  great 

whales"  lay 

"  Flcating  many  a  rood  " 

at  the  first  instant  of  their  creation,  and  the  full-grown  elephant  roamed  in  the 
Indian  forest,  among  gigantic  trees  coeval  with  a  world' of  yesterday.  So 
much  for  Buckland. 

We  feel  that  we  have  digressed  from  the  professed  object  of  this  preamble, 
by  going  so  far  back  as  the  hexcmeron,  or  six  days'  work  of  the  Creator.  In 
Racine's  only-begotten  comedy  of  the  "  Pleaders,"  the  judge,  anxious  to  bring 
an  advocate'  who  had  indulged  in  a  similar  flight  back  to  the  stolen  capon, 
which  formed  the  matter  in  dispute,  gently  interposes  by  the  celebrated  joke, 
"  Passons  au  deluge."     We  shall  take  the  hint  and  return  to  Horace. 

This  decade  terminates  ^h^  first  book  of  the  Odes.  Prout  has  thus  furnished 
the  world  with  a  complete  translation— so  fnr— of  the  Sabme  songster.  Whether 
we  shall  be  able  to  fish  up  any  further  leaves  of  the  Horatian  category  from  the 


L- 


432 


Tlic  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


old  trunk  is  yet  a  riddle.  Sufficient,  however,  has  been  done  to  place  the  critic 
of  W'atergrasshill  on  a  level  with  the  long-winded  Jesuit,  Father  Sanadox,  in 
the  muster-roll  of  the  poet's  commentators. 

OLIVER  YORKE. 
Regent  Street,  2ird Septcvibert 


Watergrasshill,  alsolHo. 

The  life  of  Horace,  as  all  the  world  knows,  has  been  epitomized  by  Sue- 
tonius, a  Roman  biographer,  who  (so  far  as  we  may  judge  from  the  portion  of 
his  works  we  possess)  must  have  entertained  pecuHar  notions  as  to  the  relative 
attraction  possessed  by  the  individual  subjects  selected  for  his  memoirs,  and 
the  comparative  ratio  of  interest  which  posterity  would  attach  to  their  perusal. 
In  Falstaff' s  tavern-bill  there  appeared  but  one  hap'orth  of  bread  to  counter- 
balance several  dozens  of  sack  ;  Suetonius  furnishes  us  with  a  miscellaneous 
account  of  celebrated  characters,  in  which  the  rules  of  proportion  are  just  as 
little  attended  to — there  is  but  ont'^ poet  to  twelve  "  CcBsars." 

In  this  solitar}'  life  of  a  single  hoinmc  dc  lettres,  which  seems  to  have  found 
its  way,  through  some  mistake,  into  the  gorgeous  circle  of  imperial  biography, 
there  is  one  occurrence  marked  down  by  the  courtly  chronicler  with  more  than 
usual  carefulness ;  sparing  neither  circumstantial  nor  documentary  detail  m  his 
anxiety  to  put  us  in  full  possession  of  the  (to  him  inexplicable)  conduct  of  the 
poet  on  the  occasion. 

One  fine  evening,  towards  the  close  of  autumn,  Flaccus  was  seated,  alfresco, 
under  the  porch  of  his  Sabine  villa,  his  arms  crossed  on  his  breast  in  a  pensive 
attitude,  a  tall  Greek-made  jar,  filled  with  home-made  wine,  standing  out  in 
bold  relief  before  him,  his  eye  apparently  intent  on  the  long  shadow  projected 
by  the  graceful  j7nphora  as  it  intercepted  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

He  was  thinking  of  Virgil,  who  had  just  died  at  Naples,  after  a  long  and 
painful  illness,  and  whose  loss  to  literature  and  social  companionship  no  one 
could  appreciate  more  feelingly  than  HoR.\CE.  They  had  but  lately  wept  in 
common  over  "  Quinctilius  ;  "  and  the  same  reflection  which  had  dried  up  the 
tear  of  the  mourners  then  (viz.  that  "  there  was  no  help  for  it"'),  was  probably 
the  only  one  that  presented  itself  to  his  mind  to  mitigate  the  pangs  of  this  fresh 
bereavement.  A  slave  was  meantime  seen  approaching  in  the  distant  land- 
scape, dressed  in  the  peculiar  costume  of  the  tabelarii,  and  bearing,  in  the 
dust  and  exhaustion  visible  throughout  his  person,  evidence  of  a  hurried  journey 
from  the  metropolis.  On  reaching  the  spot  where  the  poet  sat,  absorbed  and 
"gazing  on  vacancy,"  the  arrival  of  one  in  whom  he  recognized  a  familiar  ser- 
vant of  Maecenas  was  sufficient  to  draw  him  from  his  reverie;  especially  when, 
on  examining  the  tablets  handed  to  him  by  the  slave,  he  perceived  on  the  seal 
that  closed  tlie  silver  thread  with  which  the  letter  was  bound  up,  the  impres- 
sion of  a  sphynx — a  well-known  emblem  used  by  his  patron.  He  broke  the 
envelope  at  once,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"  OCT.WFUS  C.F.SAR,  Augustus,  Prince  of  the  Senate,  perpetual  Consul, 
Tribune  for  life,  to  C.  M.kcen.-\s,  Knight,  Prefect  of  Rome,  dwell- 
ing on  the  Esquiline,  health. 

''Hitherto  I  have  been  able  to  find  time  for  keeping  Jip  a  friendly  inter- 
course by  letter  with  my  numerous  correspondents  myself  but  the  increasing 
press  of  business,  and  my  gron'ing  infirmities,  no7i)  put  it  out  of  my  poxver.   I 

*  Prout  seems  to  think  that  the  fragments  relating  to  Lucan,  Terence,  and  Juvenal, 
are  not  to  be  ascribed  to  the  biographer  of  Horace.  Saumaise  has  not  decided  the 
question. — O.  Y. 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  433 


therefore  wish  to  entice  our  friend  Horace  frotn  your  exclusive  circle.  Allow 
him  to  excha?ige  your  hospitable  board  for  a  residence  at  the  palace  here.  He 
is  to  act  as  my  private  secretary.     Farewell. 

"From  Mount  Palatine,  tJie  kalends  of  October."* 

Maecenas  had  transmitted  to  his  friend  and  guest  the  imperial  epistle,  without 
adding  a  single  syllable  of  note  or  comment  to  what  was  thus  brieflv  couched 
in  the  handwriting  of  his  august  c.orrespondent.  Horace  was  at  firs't  at  a  loss 
to  account  for  this  deficiency,  but,  after  a  moments  reflection,  could  not  but 
bestow  his  approval  on  tlie  delicate  reserve  which  left  him  entire  liberty  to  act 
according  to  his  own  unbiassed  judgment  in  a  matter  so  wholly  personal  to 
himself. 

The  slave,  meantime,  stood  waiting  in  respectful  silence  ;  the  poet  motioned 
him  to  follow  him  into  the  atrium,  where  he  traced  a  few  lines  for  liis  master, 
and  despatched  him  back  to  Rome.  That  night,  at  supper,  Meecenas  con- 
veyed to  Augustus  the  result  of  his  message  to  the  Sabine  farm  ;  it  was  a 
refusal  to  accept  the  offer  of  the  emperor. 

The  secret  motives  which  influenced  a  determination  so  prompt  and  decisive 
on  the  poet's  part,  he  most  probably  did  not  communicate  to  Maecenas.  It  is 
likely  that  he  adopted  in  his  reply  the  usual  plea  of  "  ill  health,"  though  his 
jolly,  plump,  and  rubicund  appearance  at  their  next  meeting  sufficiently  gave 
the  lie  to  any  valetudinarian  pretences.  Perhaps  he  put  forward  his  predilec- 
tions for  a  country  life,  and  his  fondness  for  rural  solitude,  of  which  he  has  so 
often  (ironically)  celebrated  the  charms  :  such  pretext  must  have  amused  those 
ivho  were  best  acquainted  with  his  versatile  disposition,  and  knew  how  httle  the 
dull  monotony  of  rustication  was  suited  to  his  lively  humour. 

"Ro}ncp  Tiburame^n;  venios2ts  Tibure  Rovtain." 

Ep.  i.  8,  12. 

Are  we,  then,  to  conjecture  that  sheer  idleness  dictated  the  refusal?  Are  we 
to  conclude  that  the  dolce  far?iiente  of  a  modern  lazzarone  had  been  practically 
anticipated,  and  exemplified  in  the  conduct  of  an  ancient  Roman  ?  I  shall 
have  a  word  or  two  to  say  hereupon,  ere  a  verdict  is  given  dishonourable  to  the 
character  of  Horace.  I  merely  remark,  en  passant,  that  the  duties  of  a  pri- 
vate secretary  in  the  palace  of  Augustus  were  far  from  bearing  any  resemblance 
to  the  tedious  functions  imposed  by  the  prosy  and  long-winded  style  of  cor- 
respondence adopted  in  recent  diplomacy  :  billets-doux  of  old  were  quite  as 
short  as  those  of  Lord  Melbourne,  f  There  were  no  foolscap  sheets  of  protocol 
nonsense  interchanged  in  those  days  ;  and  the  secretaryship  on  Mount  Palatine 
would  have  been,  as  nearly  as  possible,  a  luxurious  sinecure. 

But  may  not  he,  as  an  homme  de  Icttres,  have  looked  on  the  mere  technical 
employment  of  "  polite  letter-writer  "  as  something  degrading  to  his  genius,  and 
derogatory  to  the  high  inspirings  of  intellect  ;  as  clogging  the  wings  of  fancy, 
and  impeding  the  lofty  flights  of  lyrical  enthusiasm?  There  may  be  something 
in  this  surmise,  yet  it  is  far  from  affording  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  tiie 
matter.  The  case,  I  apprehend,  admits  of  reasoning  drawn  from  analogy. 
Pindar  held  some  such  ministerial  appointment  at  the  Sicilian  court  of  Hieko, 
yet  he  soared  unshackled  into  the  aerial  regions  with  undiminished  buoyancy, 
fixing  on  the  effulgent  source  of  poetic  inspiration  an  eagle  eye  that  never 
blinked,  and  wafted  on  a  wing  that  never  tired.  Old  JOHX  Milton  was 
"  Latin  secrctaty"  to  the  copper-nosed  usurper  at  Whitehall,  yet  what  spirit 
like  his  could 

*  Verbatim  from  Suetonius.     See  Cuvillier  Fleury,  R.  D.  Paris,  1S30. 
t  Ex.gr.:  "How  are  you  ?     I  shall  call  at  two. 

(Signed)  "Melbourne." 

O.  Y. 


434  ^-^^^  Works  of  Father  Front. 

"  Tempt,  with  wandering  feet, 
The  dark,  unfathom'd,  infinite  abyss  ; 
And  through  the  palpable  obscure  find  out 
His  uncouth  way?  or  waft  his  airy  flight, 
X'^pborne  on  indefatigable  wings  ?  " 

Tasso  had  an  epistolary  engagement  in  tlie  houseliold  of  Este,  at  Ferrara ; 
'  ViDA  did  the  duties  of  a  Roman  canonicate,  and  held  a  Tusculan  prebend  at 
the  hands  of  Leo  X.  Racine  occupied  tlie  post  of  "  historiographer"  to  the 
Grand  Monarqiic ;  Addison  and  Prior,  Chateaubriand  and  Petrarch,  have  been 
each  in  his  day  members  of  the  ''corps  diplomaiique."  without  suffering  any 
detriment  in  their  imaginative  and  poetic  facuhies.  But  of  all  the  otilicial 
ministrations  whicli  have  brought  literary  men  in  contact  with  courts  and  sove- 
reigns, no  two  more  similar  positions  could  be  instanced  than  those  relatively- 
occupied  by  Voltaire  at  Potsdam,  and  (had  he  chosen  to  accept)  by  Horace  in 
the  palace  of  Augustus.  It  is  true  that  the  witty  French  infidel  occasionally 
complained  of  being  compelled  to  revise  and  retouch  the  poetic  effusions  of 
f^rederick — "  Je  lave  Ic  lirn^e  sale  de  sa  majesty ;  "  but  it  would  appear  that  the 
Roman  emperor  had  a  similar  mania  for  trying  his  hand  at  versification,  as 
several  hexameter  fragments  still  extant  seem  to  indicate :  and  no  doubt  he 
intended  to  avail  himself  of  our  poet's  facility  and  good  nature  to  introduce 
certain  metrical  graces  into  the  dull  routine  of  imperial  correspondence. 
Certain  it  is  that  (snuff,  brandy,  obscene  jokes,  and  blaspliemy  apart)  the 
pctits  sotip£rs  of  Potsdam  might  be  not  inaptly  compared  to  the  nodes 
va'/icvqita  deiun  enacted  of  old  on  Mount  Palatine. 

But  I  do  not  believe  that  the  repugnance  of  Horace  to  the  proposed 
arrangement  had  its  origin  in  any  fear  of  stultifying  his  inventive  powers,  or 
dimming  his  poetic  perceptions  in  the  apprehended  drudgery  of  an  amanu- 
ensis. Neither,  as  I  said  before,  do  I  concur  in  the  supposition  that  down- 
right indolence — arrant  sloth — kept  him  in  such  habitual  thraldom  that  he 
could  not  muster  energy  sufhcient  for  undertaking  the  functions  of  secretary. 
To  vindicate  him  from  the  charge  of  yielding  to  imbecile  lethargy,  of  suc- 
cumbing in  utter  incapability  of  all  strenuous  effort,  need  I  recall  the  his- 
torical fact  of  his  having  been  selected  to  take  command  of  a  regiment  in 
perilous  times — days  of  iron  exertion  ? 

"CiiJn  viihi  pareret  Icgio  Roiunna  i)-ibuuoP 

Sat.  I.  6. 

Need  I  instance  the  further  proof  of  his  business  habits  and  worldly  capacity, 
afforded  us  by  the  well-authenticated  circumstance  of  his  having  held,  and 
duly  discharged,  the  important  office  of  commissioner  of  the  public  revenue 
{scriba  quccstorius),  somewhat  equivalent  to  the  attributions  wliich,  in  a  subse- 
quent age  of  the  world,  were  deemed  the  fittest  to  occupy  the  abilities  of 
Robert  Burns,  "  poet  and  cxcisemaii" — (not  to  speak  of  one  \\'ordsworth, 
distributor  of  stamps  in  Cumberland)?  Need  I  observe,  in  corroboration  of 
ail  the  other  evidences  which  prove  his  willingness  to  work,  that  he  at  one 
time  of  his  life  went  through  the  most  wearisome  and  laborious  of  all  the 
hard  tasks  to  which  flesh  is  heir — the  crowning  drudgery  of  all  human  toils — 
that  of  earning  his  bread  \)j  scribblement  and  versemongery  ? 

"  Paupertas  impulit  audax 
Ut  versus  facerem." 

The  gods,  when  they  hate  a  man  with  uncommon  abhorrence,  are  said  to 
drive  him  to  the  profession  of  schoolmaster  :  but  a  pedagogue  may  "go  further" 
into  the  depths  of  misery,  and  "  fare  worse,"  should  he  be  tempted  to  worry  his 
brains  {rov  vow)  in  gnthering  intellectual  samphire  — 

'*  Dreadful  trade  !  " 


TJie  Songs  of  Horace.  435 

This  is  the  tnze  reading  of  a  fragmentary  passage  from  Euripides,  which  is 
often  misquoted  : 

Q-rav  C£  Aaiucou  avooi  irpoGWi]  KftKU 

ToV  vow   ttXax'/S   TTpCaTUU. 

Incertce  Trag., p7ibl.  by  Barnes. 

V/hat  our  poet  endured  in  passing  through  that  expiatory  stage  of  his 
checquered  existence  we  can  only  conjecture,  as  he  barely  alludes  in  the  above 
brief  terms  to  the  period  of  his  probation ;  which,  by  the  kind  interference  of 
Providence,  was  probably  abridged.  He  had  long  since  arrived  at  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  moderate  competence,  and  if  he  still  courted  the  Muses  and  indulged 
"in  numbers,"  it  was  (like  Pope) 

"  Because  the  numbers  came."  , 

Having  thus  fully  acquitted  Horace  of  a  propensity  to  idleness,  it  is  time  to 
state  my  own  view  of  the  cause  which  operated  in  producing  the  rejection  of  so 
tempting  an  offer  as  that  conveyed  by  letter  to  the  poet,  "from  the  highest 
quarter,"  through  the  instrumentality  of  Maecenas.  Fully  to  understand  the 
delicacy  of  mind  and  the  sensitive  feelings  of  honour  he  evinced  on  this  occa- 
sion, it  is  perhaps  expedient  to  recapitulate  anterior  occurrences. 

Horace,  by  the  mere  circumstance  of  birth,  could  scarcely  claim  admittance 
into  what  we  call  the  middle  class  of  society.*  His  father  was  a  freedman  of 
Pompey's  house,  and,  on  his  emancipation  from  service  in  that  distinguished 
family,  had  set  himself  up  in  trade  as  a  crier,  or  collector,  at  public  auc- 
tions :  a  social  position,  need  I  add,  far  from  equalling  the  splendid  rank 
held  in  modern  times  by  George  Robins  of  Covent  Garden.  He  was,  how- 
ever, an  old  man  of  considerable  sagacity;  and  to  him,  much  pondering  on 
the  unsettled  state  of  the  political  horizon,  there  appeared  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  look  out  for  the  chances  of  raising  up  his  dynasty  in  the  midst  of 
the  coming  confusion.  Wherefore,  to  the  education  of  his  only  son,  Flaccus  — 
rather  a  smart  boy  for  his  age — he  devoted  all  his  earnings  and  energies,  so 
as  to  fit  him  for  the  very  highest  functions  of  the  state,  should  fortune  turn 
favourable.  He  accordingly  sent  him  to  the  tip-top  school  of  the  day — the 
Eton  or  Harrow  of  Rome,  kept  by  one  Orbilius  "for  a  select  number  of  the 
young  nobility  and  gentry."  Xor  has  Horace  omitted  gratefully  to  record 
the  pains  and  trouble  which  the  worthy  principal  of  this  academy  bestowed 
on  his  studies ;  though  he  jocosely  applies  to  him  now  and  then  the  endearing 
epithet  of  "//c7^^j//j-,"  and  is  supposed  by  the  German  philologist,  Wolff,  to 
have  drawn  his  portrait  in  the  well-known  lines  about  Death  : 

"  Xec  parcit  imbellis  juventae 
Poplitibus,  tbnidoz'e  tergo." 

Lib.  iii.  ode  ii. 

Having  exhausted,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  all  the  stock  of  information 
possessed  by  Orbilius,  his  excellent  father,  begmdging  no  expense,  and  securely 
calculating  'on  a  full  return  for  the  capital  invested  in  so  hopeful  a  son,  now 
sent  him  to  Athens,  where  Philosophy  still  sauntered  in  the  shady  walks  of 
Academus,  and  Wisdom  yet  heid  forth  from  the /^;r/z  of  Zeno.  Here  was 
congregated  all  the  young  blood  of  Rome  ;  the  promising  scions  of  every  noble 
house  were  allowed  to  grow  up  in  the  genial  sunshine  of  Greece  :  Athens  was 
the  fashionable  university.  The  youthful  acquaintances  formed  here  by  Horace 
were,  naturally  enough,  selected  from  the  partisans  and  supporters  of  Pompey  ; 

*  Ha  was  not  ashamed  to  own  it : 

'"' Ego  pajiper2n7i  sanguis parc7itu7H. " 

Ode  ii.  20,  6. 


such  as  young  Plancus,  Messala,  Varus,  Bibulus,  Cicero  (son  of  the  orator), 
and  all  that  set.  What  a  delightful  and  interesting  picture  it  were  to  contem- 
plate the  development,  in  these  ardent  breasts,  of  genius,  passion,  patriotism, 
and  all  the  workings  of  the  Roman  soul ;  to  note  the  aspirings  of  each 
gallant  spirit ;  to  watch  the  kindling  of  each  generous  emotion,  fanned  into 
a  blaze  by  the  recollections  of  Grecian  renown  and  the  memorials  of  bygone 
glory  !  Nor  were  it  a  less  curious  study  to  observe  the  contrast  of  Roman 
and  Athenian  manners  in  this  refined  and  intellectual  city,  at  once  frivolous 
and  profound,  servile  and  enthusiastic ;  the  parent  of  Pericles,  Phidias,  and 
Phocion,  yet  nursing  numerous  and  genuine  specimens  of  the  sycophant  and 
the  sophist,  to  all  appearance  equally  indigenous  in  the  soil  with  the  hero 
and  the  sage. 

Dwelling  with  fondness  on  this  young  colony  of  noble  students,  imagination 
revels  in  the  vision  of  their  joyous  and  animated  intercourse ;  fancy  follows 
them  through  their  pursuits  of  science  or  of  pleasure,  their  reveries  of  Stoic  or 
Epicurean  philosophy — (for  Paul  had  not  yet  astounded  the  Areopagus  with 
the  announ.^ement  of  Revelation) — calm  dreams,  not  unmixed  with  specula- 
tions on  the  symptoms  of  important  change,  already  but  too  manifest  in  the 
political  system  of  the  mother-country.  "Of  a  sudden,  the  news  of  Caesars 
murder  in  the  senate-house  burst  on  the  quiet  leisure  of  these  pleasant  hours  ; 
and,  to  add  to  the  excitement,  the  arrival  at  Athens  of  Brutus  himself, 
fresh  glowing  from  tlie  deed  of  antique  stoicism,  communicated  an  irresist- 
ible impulse  to  the  cause,  and  sent  an  electric  shock  through  the  veins  of 
each  young  Pompeiax.  Loud  was  the  acclaim,  and  warm  the  welcome, 
with  which  Horace  and  his  circle  hailed  the  asserter  of  the  rights  and  privileges 
of  the  Roman  aristocracy  :  for  this,  en  passant,  is  the  true  light  in  which  the 
hero  of  the  ides  of  March  should  be  considered  by  those  who  wish  to  under- 
stand the  actuating  motives  and  political  views  of  that  period.  An  army 
was  to  be  organized  in  all  haste ;  and  high  must  have  been  the  opinion  of 
our  poet's  personal  intrepidity  and  skill  when  Brutus  did  not  hesitate  to 
place  him  at  once  at  the  head  of  A  regiment:  the  post  of  "military 
tribune  "  being  equivalent  to  the  functions  of  colonel  in  our  modern  army-lists. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  pupil  of  the  "  polu-flog-boyo  "  Orbilius,  gallantly 
accoutred,  unflinchingly  erect  in  the  van  of  a  legion,  forming  one  of  the 
"staff"  in  an  army  of  100,000  men,  who  were  soon  to  meet  an  equal  number  on 
the  disastrous  plains  of  Fhilippi.  It  was  the  last  effort  of  the  expiring  con- 
stitution— the  last  bold  stand  made  by  the  confederated  nobility,  the  Cavaliers 
of  Rome,  against  the  odious  idol  of  Democracy  embodied  in  the  Triumvirate. 
Several  years  subsequently,  in  a  drinking-song  alluding  to  this  battle,  he  charges 
himself  with  the  basest  cowardice  ;  describing  his  conduct  as  that  of  a  run- 
away, who  flung  knapsack,  belt,  and  buckler,  to  be  foremost  in  the  flight  when 
sauve  qui  pent  was  tiie  cry.  But  we  may  safely  look  on  the  avowal  as  merely 
one  of  mock-modesty,  meant  to  be  taken  cutn  grano  salis  ;  especially  as  the 
bacchanalian  song  in  question  was  addressed  to  one  of  the  young  Pompeys 
{Pomp.  Grosph.),  before  whom  he  would  be  loth  to  stultify  or  stigmatize  him- 
self by  such  a  statement,  if  intended  to  be  taken  literally.  \\'e  may  confidently 
assert,  in  the  absence  of  every  other  testimony  but  his  own,  that  he  behaved 
with  proper  courage  on  the  occasion;  and  for  this  reason,  viz.  no  one  likes  to 
joke  on  matters  in  which  he  is  conscious  of  deficiency.  Joe  Hume,  for  instance, 
never  ventures  a  witticism  on  the  Greek  loan. 

The  results  of  the  campaign  are  well  known.  Brutus  made  away  with  him- 
self, with  stoic  consistency;  but  a  number  of  his  lieutenants — Bibulus,  his 
brother-in-law,  Messala,  Plancus,  and  many  others,  with  14,000  of  the 
troops,  capitulated,  and  made  tlieir  submission  to  the  triumvirs.  A  few  years 
after,  Messala  fought  at  Actium,  under  the  banner  of  Octavius,  and  is  reported 
to  have  exclaimed  in  the  hearing  of  Antony's  antagonist,  "  It  is  czer  my  des- 


The  Songs  of  Hoj^ace. 


437 


tiny  to  bear  arms  at  the  side  on  ivhich  justice  and  honour  are  arrayed."  A 
saying  equally  indicative  of  Messala's  free-spoken  intrepidity,  and  the  tolerat- 
ing high-mindedness  of  the  emperor  who  could  listen  without  chiding  or  dis- 
pleasure. 

Horace  followed  the  example  of  those  whom  he  had  known  at  Athens  in  the 
intimacy  of  early  youth,  when  attachments  are  strongest,  and  the  ties  of  indisso- 
luble friendship  are  most  effectually  formed.  But  in  this  tacit  adhesion  to  the 
new  order  of  things,  old  fcehngs  and  long-cherished  opinions  were  not  readily 
got  rid  of.  The  Jacobites  could  not  yet  divest  themselves  of  a  secret  antipathy 
to  the  house  of  Hanover.  There  still  existed,  among  most  of  them,  a  sort  of 
sulky  reluctance  to  approximate  with  the  government,  or  accept  its  favour,  or 
incur  any  obligation  irreconcilable  with  the  proud  susceptibihty  of  patrician 
independence. 

It  becomes  obvious,  from  this  \ix\^i  exposi,  that  for  Horace  to  accept  a  situation 
in  the  household  of  Augustus  would  be  tantamount  on  his  part  to  a  complete 
apostasy  from  all  his  old  famihar  friendships,  and  a  formal  renunciation  of  all 
acquaintanceship  among  the  numerous  surviving  partisans  of  Pompev.  Every 
one  who  recollects  the  abuse  poured  out  on  Burke  (in  his  capacity  of  govern- 
ment pensioner),  from  the  foul  organs  of  Holland  House,  will  understand  the 
annoyance  to  which  our  poet  would  have  subjected  himself  had  he  yielded  to 
the  proposal  of  the  emperor.  Besides,  he  possessed  a  becoming' share  of 
rational  pride,  and  was  unwilling  to  barter  the  free  sentiments  of  his  mind, 
and  their  honest  expression,  for  emoluments  and  funciions  which  would  give 
to  any  support  his  writings  might  afford  the  established  dynasty  a  semblance 
of  venality,  stamping  him  as  a  mere  mercenary  character.  The  friendship  of 
Mecasnas  had  procured  for  him  the  restoration  of  some  confiscated  property 
\shich  his  father  had  acquired,  but  which  had  become  forfeited  by  the  part  he 
had  taken  in  the  civil  war  :  this  was  the  "  Sabine  farm."  Presents  and  valua- 
ble benefactions  had  flowed  on  him  from  the  same  munificent  source,  but  per- 
fect equality  and  reciprocal  esteem  were  the  terms  on  which  the  patron  and 
poet  lived  towards  each  other.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the  letter  of  Augustus 
failed  to  seduce  him  from  the  table  of  Mecaenas,  on  the  Esquiline  Hill,  to  a 
secretary's  duties,  and  accompanying  golden  shackles,  on  Mount  Palatine. 

Such  is  the  simple  explanation  of  an  otherwise  very  extraordinary  passage 
in  the  life  of  Horace.  Viewed  in  this  light,  his  reluctance  would  appear  per- 
fectly justifiable,  and  would  seem  to  evince  sound  judgment,  as  well  as  a  deli- 
cate sense  of  honour.  I  happen  to  have  some  very  particular  reasons,  which 
it  is  unnecessary  to  specify,  for  dwelling  on  the  conduct  here  described  ;  and 
having,  I  trust,  put  the  matter  in  its  proper  light,  I  now  return  to  my  herme- 
neutic  labours. 

We  are  informed  by  Strabo  (lib.  xvi.),  that  in  the  year  730  u.c,  the  emperor 
decided  on  sending  out  an  army,  under  the  command  of  Gallus,  to  conquer 
Arabia  Felix,  the  "land  of  Hus."  This  country,  by  all  accounts,  sacred  and 
profane  (see  Isaiah,  cap.  Ix.  ct passim),  seems  to  have  been  celebrated  for  its 
treasure  and  renowned  for  its  luxury,  though  very  little  traces  remained  a  few- 
centuries  after  of  either  riches  or  civilization  ;  at  the  present  day,  it  is  literally 
"  as  poor  as  Job."  Such,  however,  were  the  ideas  entertained  at  Rome  of  this 
F.l  Dorado  of  the  East,  that  thousands  enrolled  themselves  under  the  standard 
of  Gallus,  in  the  hopes  of  making  a  rapid  fortune  from  the  spoils  of  the 
Arabs.  The  expedition  proved  a  wretched  failure.  One  Iccirs,  however,  was 
among  the  deluded  speculators,  who  joined  it  through  sheer  eagerness  for  pil- 
lage ;  he  sold  a  capital  law  library,  to  .purchase  an  outfit  and  a  commission  in 
the  newly  raised  regiments.  His  abandonment  of  professional  pursuits  for  a 
military  engagement  was  the  laughter  of  all  Rome,  and  Horace  heartily  enjoyed 
the  general  merriment.  Such  was  the  occasion  which  provoked  the  following 
witty  and  polished  remonstrance,  addressed  to  the  warlike  lawyer  : — 


ODE  XXIX.— THE  SAGE  TURNED  SOLDIER. 


Air—"  One  bumper  at  partim 


I. 


AD    :CCIUM 


The  trophies  of  war,  and  the  plunder. 

Have  fired  a  philosopher's  breast — 
So,  Iccirs,  you  marcli  mid  the  wonder 

Of  allj  for  Akadia  the  blest. 
Full  sure,  when  'tis  told  to  the  Persi.^N, 

That  ynu  have  abandon'd  your  home, 
Ke'Il  feel  the  full  force  of  coercion. 

And  strike  to  the  banners  of  Ro.me  ! 


II. 

What  chief  shall  you  vanquish  and  fetter  ? 

What  captive  shall  call  you  her  lord? 
How  soon  may  the  maiden  forget  her 

Betrothed,  hewn  down  by  your  sword  ? 
What  stripling  has  fancy  appointed. 

From  all  that  their  palaces  hold, 
To  serve  you  with  ringlets  anointed, 

And  hand  you  the  goblet  of  gold? 

III. 

His  arts  to  3'our  pastime  contribute, 

His  foreign  accomplishments  show, 
And,  taught  by  his  parent,  e.vhibit 

His  dexterous  use  of  the  bow. — 
Who  doubts  that  the  Tiber,  in  choler, 

May,  bursting  all  barriers  and  bars, 
Flow  back  to  its  source,  when  a  scholar 

Deserts  to  the  standard  of  M.\rs? 

TV. 

\Vhen  yort,  the  resei-ved  and  the  prudent. 

Whom  Socrates  hoped  to  engage, 
Can  merge  in  the  soldier  the  student, 

And  mar  thus  an  embryo  sage^ 
Bid  the  visions  of  science  to  vanish, 

And  barter  your  erudite  hoard 
Of  volumes  from  Greece  for  a  Sp.\nish 

Cuirass,  and  the  ten  for  a  sword  ? 


loci,  beatis  nunc 
Arabum  invides 
Ciazis,  et  acrem 
Militiam  paras 
Non  ante  devictis 

S.^B.'E.'E 

Regibus,  hor- 
ribilique  Medo 

II. 

Nectis  catenas. 
Quae  tibi  virginum, 
Sponso  necato, 
Barbara  serviet  ? 
Puer  quis  e.x  aula 
Capillis 
Ad  cyathum 
Statuetur  unctis, 

III. 

Doctus  saglttas 
Tendere  Sericas 
Arcu  paterno  ? 
Quis  neget  arduis 
Pronos  relabi 
Posse  rivos 
Montibus,  et 
Tiberim  reverti, 

IV. 

Quum  tu  coemptos 
Undique  nobiles 
Libros  Panasti, 
Socraticam  et  domum 
!Mutare  loricis 

IliERIS, 

Pollicitus 
Meliora,  tendis? 


.  The  "Spanish"  cuirass  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the  peninsula  was,  so 
far  back  as  the  Augustan  age,  renowned  for  its  iron  manufactures.  The  blades 
of  ToLKDO  kept  up,  during  the  middle  ages,  tlie  credit  of  Spain  for  industrv 
and  skill  in  this  department.  Likewise,  in  the  craft  of  shocmakin^,  the  town 
of  CoKDOV.v  shone  pre-eminent ;  nor  did  the  hero  of  that  ilk,  Go.nsalvi:  dc 
Cordoue,  confer  on  it  greater  celebrit.y  than  its  leatliern  glories  ;  as  the  English 
word  cord-Lhiiner,  and  the  French  term  cordo/niicr,  s"till  testify.  In  an  old 
MS.  of  the  King's  Library,  Paris  (marked  Q,;,  a  monkish  scholiast  has  made 
a  marginal  observation  on  this  ode  to  IcciUS,  which  is  highly  characteristic  of 
cloister  criticism: — '' Horatiiis  rep7-chciidit  qucindain  qui  sua  CLEKIC.\LI.\ 
oiriciA  vinlat  pro  militaribus  arinis:"—?i  clerk  who  could  sell  his  "office- 
book  "  or  breviary,  for  a  suit  of  armour,  was  assuredly  a  fit  subject  for  the 
poet's  animadversion.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  same  worthy  commentator 
did  not  continue  his  glossary  throughout ;  as,  for  instance,  what  might  he  not 
discover  in  the  ne.xt  viorceau  ?~ 


The  Songs  of  Horace, 


439 


ODE  XXX.— THE   DEDICATION   OF   GLYCERA-S   CHAPEL. 
Air — '■'  The  Boyne  ^Vater." 


AD   VENEREM. 


O  Vents,  Queen  of  Cyprus  isle, 

Of  Paphcjs  and  of  Gxidus, 
Hie  from  thy  favourite  haunts  awhile. 

And  make  abode  amid  us  ; 
For  THEE  Glycera's  altar  smokes, 

With  frankincense  sweet-smelling — 
Thee,  while  the  charming  maid  invokes. 

Hie  to  her  lovely  dwelling  I 


I. 

O  Venus  !  Regina 
Gnidi.  Paphique, 
Sperne  dilectam 
Cypron,  et  vocantis 
Thure  te  multo 
Glycer^s 
Decoram 
Transfer  in  sedem 


II. 

Let  yon  bright  Boy,  whose  hand  hath  grasp'd 

Loves  blazing  torch,  precede  thee. 
While  gliding  on,  with  zone  unclaspd, 

The  sister  Graces  lead  thee  : 
Nor  be  thy  Nymph-attendants  miss'd  : 

Nor  can  it  harm  thy  court,  if 
Hebe  the  youthful  swell  thy  list, 

With  Mercury  the  sportive. 


II. 

Fer%"idu5  tecum 
Puer,  et  solutis 
GraticB  zonis, 
Properentque 

Nymphas, 
Et  parum  comis 
Sine  te  Juventas, 
Mercurlr.sque. 


Honest  Dacier  says,  in  his  own  dry  ^vay :  "  0«  7ie  doit  pas  s'cioiiner 
qu  Horace  mctte  Mc,  cure  d  la  suite  de  Venus  ;  cela  sexplique  aisement !" 

Augustus,  in  the  year  U.C.  726,  according  to  Dicn  (53.  1.),  built  a  temple  to 
Apollo  on  Mount  Palatine,  to  which  he  annexed  a  splendid  librar}-,  much 
spoken  of  under  subsequent  emperors.  The  ceremony  of  its  consecration  ap- 
pears to  have  called  forth  as  Vi\'3iW\ '' addresses"  as  the  re-opening  of  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  in  the  heyday  of  Horace  Smith :  one  only  has  been  preserved  to 
posterity.  Here  is  the  Roman  laureate's  effusion,  replete  with  dignified  and 
philosophic  sentiments,  expressed  in  the  noblest  language  : — 


ODE   XXXL— THE   DEDICATION   OF   APOLLO'S   TEMPLE. 

.VNNO    AB    U.C.  726. 

Air — "  Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye." 


AD  apollinem. 


When  the  bard  in  worship,  low 

Bends  before  his  liege  Ai'OLLO, 
\\Tiile  the  red  libations  flow 

From  the  goblet's  golden  hollow, 
Can  ye  guess  his  orison  ? 

Can  it  be  for  ' "  grain  "  he  asketh— 
Mellow  grain,  that  in  the  sun. 

O'er  Sardinia's  bosom  basketh? 


I. 

Quid  dedicatum 
Poscit  Apollinem 
Vates?    Quid  orat, 
De  patera  novum 
Fundes  liquorem? 
Non  opimffi, 
Sardini.e 
Segetes  feracis. 


XL 

No,  no  !    The  fattest  herd  of  kine 
That  o'er  Calabrian  pasture  ranges- 

The  wealth  of  India's  richest  mine — 
The  ivory  of  the  distant  Ganges? 


II. 

Nori  aestuosae 
Grata  Calabriae 
Armenta,  non  aurum 
Aut  ebur  Indicum, 


440 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


No — these  be  not  the  poets  dream — 
Nor  acres  broad  to  roam  at  large  in. 

Where  lazy  Liris,  silent  stream, 

Slow  undermines  the  meadow's  margin. 


Non  rura,  quae 
Liris  quieta 

Mordet  aqua, 
Taciturnus  amnis. 


III. 

The  landlord  of  a  wide  domain 

May  gather  his  Ca.mpaman  vintage. 
The  venturous  trader  count  his  gain — 

I  covet  not  his  rich  per  centage  ; 
When  for  the  merchandise  he  sold 

He  gets  the  balance  he  relied  on, 
Pleased  let  him  toast,  in  cups  of  gold, 

"  Free  intercourse  with  Tyre  and  SiDON  ! " 


III. 

Premant  Calenam 
Fake,  quibus  dedit 
Fortuna,  vitem  ; 
Dives  et  aureis 
Mercator  ex- 
siccet  culullis 
Vina  SvKA 
Reparata  merce. 


IV. 

Each  year  upon  the  watery  waste, 

Let  him  provoke  the  fierce  Atlantic 
Four  separate  times— I  have  no  taste 

For  speculation  so  gigantic. 
The  gods  are  kind,  the  gain  superb  ; 

But,  haply,  I  can  feast  in  quiet 
On  salad  of  some  homely  herb. 

On  frugal  fruit  and  olive  diet. 


IV. 

Dis  cams  ipsis  ; 
Quippe  ter  et  quatei 
Anno  revisens 
iEquor  Atlanticum 
Impune.     Me 
Pascunt  olivae. 
Me  cichorea 
Levesque  malvae. 


V. 

Oh,  let  Latona's  son  but  please 

To  guarantee  me  health's  enjoyment  I 
The  goods  he  gave — the  faculties 

Of  which  he  claims  the  full  employment ; 
Let  me  live  on  to  good  old  age, 

No  deed  of  shame  my  pillow  haunting. 
Calm  to  the  last,  the  closing  stage 

Of  life  : — nor  let  the  lyre  be  wanting  ! 


Frui  paratis 

Et  valido  mihi, 

Latoe,  dones  ; 

At,  precor,  integra 

Cum  mente. 

Nee  turpem  senectam 

Degere  nee 
Cithara.  carentem. 


The  following  stanzas  would  seem  to  form  a  sort  of  introductory  flourish,  or 
preamble;  and,  in  the  opinion  of  Father  Sanado.x,  were  intended  as  a  musical 
overture  to  the  "Carmen  Sasculare."  In  it  Horace  calls  the  lyre  2i  test udo ; 
and  tells  us  that  Jupiter  never  dined  without  an  accompaniment  of  the  kind  : 
"  Dapibus  supreyni grata  tcstiido  Jovis."  My  friend,  William  Jerdan,  thinks, 
nevertheless,  that  "fine  lively  turtle"  is  of  far  greater  acceptance,  on  festal 
occasions,  than  a  mere  empty  tortoise-shell. 


ODE    XXXII. 


ad  lyram. 


Poscimur...Si  quid  vacui  sub  umbra 
Lusimus  tecum,  quod  et  hunc  in  annum 
Vivat  et  plures,  age,  die  Latinum, 
Barbite,  carmen, 

II. 

Lesbio  primum  modulate  civi  ; 
Qui,  fero.v  hello,  tamen  inter  arma, 
Sive  jactatam  religarat  udo 
Litore  navim. 


III. 


Liberum,  et  Musas,  Veneremque,  et  illi 
Semper  haerentem  puerum  canebat, 
Et  Lycam  nigris  oculis,  nigroque 
Crine  decoram. 

IV. 

O  decus  Phoebi,  et  dapibus  supremi 
Grata  testudo  Jovis  I  o  laborum 
Dulce  lenimen,  mihi  cumque  salve 
Rite  vocanti! 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  441 


An  occasional  Prelude  of  the  Poet  to  his  Songs. 
Air — "  Dear  harp  of  my  country." 


They  have  call'd  for  a  h>Tnn,  which  they  say  shall  not  perish, 

But  Echo  its  music  through  ages  prolong  ; 
Then  wake,  Latin  lyre  !     Since  my  countrymen  cherish 

Thy  wild  native  harmony,  wake  to  my  song. 


II. 

*Twas  Alc^us,  a  minstrel  of  Greece,  who  first  married 
The  tones  of  the  voice  to  the  thrill  of  the  chord  ; 

O'er  the  waves  of  the  sea  the  loved  symbol  he  carried. 
Nor  relinquish'd  the  IjTe  though  he  wielded  the  sword. 


III. 

Gay  Bacchus,  the  Muses,  with  Cupid  he  chanted 
— The  boy  who  accompanies  Venus  the  fair — 

And  he  told  o'er  again  how  for  Lvca  he  panted. 

With  her  bonny  black  eyes  and  her  dark  flowing  hair. 


IV. 

Tis  the  pride  of  Apollo— he  glories  to  rank  it, 

Amid  his  bright  attributes,  foremost  of  all  : 
Tis  the  solace  of  life  !     Even  Jove  to  his  banquet 

Invites  thee  ! — O  Lyre  !  ever  wake  to  my  call. 

I  do  not  admit  the  next  ode  to  be  genuine.  The  elegiac  poet,  TiBULLUS, 
to  whom  it  is  inscribed,  died  very  young  (twenty-six) ;  and,  besides,  was 
too  great  a  favourite  of  the  ladies  to  have  such  lines  as  these  addressed  to 
him  : — 

ODE   XXXIII. 

ad  ALBILT.I   TIBULLUM. 

Albi,  ne  doleas.  Be  not  astonish'd,  dear  Tibullus, 

Plus  nimio  memor  That  fickle  women  jilt  and  gull  us  ! 

Immitis  Glycerse,  Cease  to  write  ''^  elegies ^  bemoaning 

Neu  miserabiles  Glycera's  falsehood — idly  groaning 

Decantes  elegos,  That  thou  in  her  esteem  hast  sunk,  or 

Cur  tibi  junior  That  she  prefers  a  roaring  younker. 
Lasa  proeniteat  fide,  &c.  K.  t.  A. 

I  consequently  dismiss  it  to  its  appropriate  place  amid  the  Apocrypha. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  though  overlooked  by  most  historians,  that  the  "Re- 
formation" originated  in  a  clap  of  thunder.  A  German  student  was  so  terrified 
by  the  bolt  (which  killed  his  comrade)  that  he  turned  monk,  and,  having  had 
originally  no  vocation  for  that  quiet  craft,  afterwards  broke  out,  naturally 
enough,  into  a  polemical  agitator.  Horace  was  nearly  converted  by  the  same 
electric  process  as  Luther.     Ex.  gr.  : 

R 


44- 


The   Works  of  Father  Protct. 


ODE  XXXIV.— THE  POET'S   CONVERSION. 

AD  SEIPSUM. 


% 


1. 

I,  whom  the  Gods  had  found  a  client, 

Rarely  with  pious  rites  compliant, 

At  Unbelief  disposed  to  nibble. 

And  pleased  with  every  sophist  quibble — 

I,  who  had  deem'd  great  Jove  a  phantom, 

Now  own  my  errors,  and  recant  'em  ! 


Parous  Deorum 
Cultor  et  infrequens, 

Insanientis 
Dum  sapientiae 
Consultus  erro,  nunc  retrorsum 
Vela  dare,  atque  iterare  cursus 


II. 

Have  I  not  lived  of  late  to  witness. 
Athwart  a  sky  of  passing  brightness. 
The  God,  upon  his  car  of  thunder. 
Cleave  the  calm  elements  asunder  ? 
And,  through  the  firmament  careering. 
Level  his  bolts  with  aim  unerring  ? 


II. 

Cogor  relictos. 
Namque  Diespiter, 

Igni  corusco 
Nubila  dividens 
Plerumque,  per  purum  tonantes 
Egit  equos,  volucremque  currum, 


III. 

Then  trembled  Earth  with  sudden  shiver; 
Then  quaked  with  fear  each  mount  and  river ; 
Stunn'd  at  the  blow,  Hell  reel'd  a  minute, 
With  all  the  darksome  caves  within  it ; 
And  Atlas  seem'd  as  he  would  totter 
Beneath  his  load  of  land  and  water  ! 


III. 

Quo  bruta  tellus, 
Et  vaga  flumina. 

Quo  StjTc,  et  invisi 
Horrida  Taenari 
Sedes,  Atlanteusque  finis 
Concutitur.     Valet  ima  summts 


IV. 

Yes  !  of  a  God  I  hail  the  guidance  ; 
The  proud  are  humbled  at  his  biddance ; 
Fortune,  his  handmaid,  now  uplifting 
Monarchs,  and  now  the  sceptre  shifting. 
With  equal  proof  his  power  evinces, 
^Vhether  she  raise  or  ruin  Princes. 


IV. 

Mutare,  et  insignem 
Attenuat  Deus, 

Obscura  promens. 
Hinc  apicem  rapax 
Fortuna  cum  stridore  acuto 
Sustulit,  hie  posuisse  gaudet. 


Here  is  a  specimen  of  the  poet's  more  elevated  manner— a  sample  of  his 
grander  style  of  composition.  He  invokes  the  smile  of  Fortune  on  two  im- 
pending enterprises  of  the  emperor  :  one  an  expedition  to  Arabia,  composed  of 
new  recruits  (concerning  which,  see  the  first  ode  of  this  decade);  and,  secondly, 
an  excursion  to  Britain.  Napoleon  would  call  the  first,  "  I'Arm^e  dcT Orient;" 
and- the  other  "  l' Armtfe  d A?!glcterrc"  Both  were  intended  rather  to  divert 
public  attention  from  politics  than  for  real  conquest.  Horace,  however,  appears 
quite  in  earnest. 


ODE  XXXV.— AN  ADDRESS  TO  FORTUNE. 


I. 


AD    FORTUNAM. 


Fortune,  whose  pillar'd  temple  crowns 

Cape  Antium's  jutting  cliff, 
Whose  smiles  confer  success,  whose  frowns 

Can  change  our  triumphs  brief 
To  funerals — for  life  doth  lie  at 
The  mercy  of  thy  sovereign  fiat. 


O  Diva,  gratum 

Qu^  regis  Antium, 

Praesens  vel  imo 

Tollere  de  gradu 

Mortale  corpus,  vel  superbos 

Vertere  funeribus  triumphos. 


The  So7tgs  of  Horace. 


443 


II. 

Thee,  Goddess  !  in  his  fervent  prayers. 
Fondly  the  frugal  farmer  courts  ; 

The  mariner,  before  he  dares 

Unmoor  his  bark,  to  thee  resorts — 

That  thy  kind  favour  may  continue. 

To  bless  his  voyage  to  Bithynia. 


II. 

Te  pauper  ambit 
Sollicita  prece 

Ruris  colonus  ; 
Te  dominam  sequoris, 
Quicumque  Bithyna  lacessit 
Carpathium  pelagus  carina  ; 


III. 

Rude  Dacia's  clans,  wild  Scythia's  hordes — 
Abroad— at  home — all  worship  thee  ! 

And  mothers  of  barbarian  I,ords, 
And  purpled  tyrants,  bend  the  knee 

Before  thy  shrine,  O  Maid  !  who  seemest 

To  rule  mankind  with  power  supremest. 


III. 

Te  Dacus  asper, 
Te  profugi  Scythae, 

Urbesque,  gentesque, 
Et  Latium  ferox, 
Regumque  matres  barbarorum,  et 
Purpurei  metuunt  tyranni, 


IV. 

Lest  THOU  their  statue's  pillar 'd  pride 
Dash  to  the  dust  with  scornful  foot — 

Lest  Tumult,  bent  on  regicide, 
Their  ancient  dynasty' uproot ; 

When  madden'd  crowds,  with  Fiends  to  lead  'em, 

Wreck  empires  in  the  name  of  freedom  ! 


IV. 

Injurioso 
Ne  pede  proruas 

Stantem  columnam ; 
Neu  populus  frequens 
Ad  arma  cessantes,  kA  arma 
Concitet,  imperiumque  frangat. 


V. 

Thee  stern  Necessity  leads  on. 
Loaded  with  attributes  of  awe ; 

And  grasping,  grim  automaton. 
Bronze  wedges  in  his  iron  claw. 

Prepared  with  sledge  to  drive  the  bolt  in, 

And  seal  it  fast  with  lead  that's  molten. 


V. 

Te  semper  anteit 
Saeva  Necessitas, 
Clavos  trabales 
Et  cuneos  manu 
Gestans  aena,  nee  severus 
Uncus  abest  liquidumque  plum- 
bum. 


VI. 

Thee  Hope  adores.— In  snow-white  vest. 
Fidelity  (though  seldom  found) 

Clings  to  her  liege,  and  loves  him  best, 
When  dangers  threat  and  ills  surround ; 

Prizing  him  poor,  despoil'd,  imprison'd. 

More  than  with  gold  and  gems  bedizen'd. 


VI. 

Te  Spes,  et  albo 
Rara  Fides  colit 
Velata  panno, 
Nee  comitem  abnegat, 
Utcumque  mutata  potentes  _ 
Veste  domos  inimica  linquis. 


VIL 

Not  so  the  fickle  crowd  !— Not  so 
The  purchased  Beauty,  sure  to  fly 

Where  all  our  boon  companions  go, 

Soon  as  the  cask  of  joy  runs  dry  :  ^ 

Round  us  the  Spring  and  Summer  brought  em- 

They  leave  us  at  the  close  of  Autumn  ! 

Will.— T^te  Prayer. 

Goddess  !  defend,  from  dole  and  harm, 
C/ESAR,  who  speeds  to  Britain's  camp  ! 

And  waft,  of  Rome's  glad  youth,  the  swarm 
Safe  to  where  first  Apollo's  lamp 

Shines  in  the  East— the  brave  whose  fate  is 

To  war  upon  thy  banks,  Euphrates  ! 


VII. 

At  vulgus  infidum, 
Et  meretrix  retro 

Perjura  cedit ; 
Diffugiunt  cadis  _ 
Cum  faece  siccatis  amici, 
Ferre  jugum  pariter  dolosi. 

VI II.— A  titistrophe. 

Serves  iturum 
Caesarem  in  ultimos 

Orbis  Britannos, 
Et  juvenum  recens 
Examen  Eois  timendum 
Partibus,  Oceanoque  rubro. 


444 


The  Works  of  Father  Protit. 


IX. 

Oh  .'  let  our  country's  tears  expunge 

From  history's  page  those  years  abhorr'd. 

When  Roman  hands  could  reckless  plunge, 
Deep  in  a  brother's  heart,  the  sword  ; 

When  Guilt  stalk'd  forth,  with  aspect  hideous. 

With  every  crime  and  deed  perfidious  ; 


IX. 

Eheu  !  cicatricum 
Et  sceleris  pudet 

Fratrumque.     Quid  nos 
Dura  refugimus 
i?)tas?     Quid  intactum  nefasti 
Liquimus  ?    Unde    manum  ju- 
ventus 


X. 

When  Sacrilege  and  Frenz>'  urged 
To  violate  each  hallow'd  fane. — 

Oh  !  that  our  falchions  were  reforged. 
And  purified  from  sin  and  shame ; — 

Then — turn'd  against  th' Assyrian  foeman — 

Baptized  in  exploits  truly  Roman  ! 


Metu  Deorum 
Continuit  ?     Quibus 

Pepercit  aris  ? 
O  utinam  nova 
Incude  defingas  retusum  in 
Massagetas  Arabasque  ferrum ! 


The  unaffected  simplicity  of  the  next  song,  and  the  kindly  warmth  of  affec- 
tion it  bespeaks,  are  highly  creditable  to  the  poet's  heart.  The  "gentle 
Lamia"  has  already  figtired  in  this  series,*  but  nothing  is  known  of 
"  Numida." 


ODE  XXXVL— A  WELCOME  TO  NUMIDA. 


AD  PLOTIUM  NUMIDAM. 


Bum  frankincense  !  blow  fife 
A  merry  note  I — and  quick  devote 
A  victim  to  the  knife, 

II. 

To  thank  the  guardian  powers 
Who  led  from  SpAiN^home  once  again. 
This  gallant  friend  of  ours. 


I. 


Et  thure  et  fidihus  juvat 
Placare,  et  vituli 
Sanguine  debito 

II. 

Custodes  Numidze  Decs, 
Qui  nunc,  Hesperia 
Sospes  ab  ultima, 


III. 

Dear  to  us  all ;  yet  one 
Can  fairly  boast — his  friendship  most : 
Oh,  him  he  doats  upon  ! 

IV. 

The  gentle  Lamia,  whom, 
Long  used  to  share — each  schoolday  Care, 
He  loved  in  boyhood's  bloom. 


IIL 

Ceris  multa  sodalibus, 
Nulli  plura  tamen 
Dividit  oscula, 

IV. 

Quam  dulci  Lamise,  memor 
Actae  non  alio 
Rege  puertias. 


On  both  one  day  conferr'd 
The  garb  of  men — this  day,  again. 
Let  a  '  ■  white  chalk  "  record. 


V. 

Mutataeque  simul  togae. 
Cressa  ne  careat 
Fulchra  dies  notik ; 


VI. 

Then  send  the  wine-jar  round, 
And  blithely  keep  the  "  Salian"  step 
With  many  a  mirthful  bound. 


VI. 

Neu  promptae  modus  amphorae, 
Neu  morem  in  Salium 
Sit  requies  pedum. 


See  last  decade. 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


445 


We  now  come  to  a  political  squib  of  loud  dclat  and  dazzling  brilliancy. 
How  he  exults  in  the  downfall  of  an  anti-national  confederacy  !  How  he  revels 
in  the  dastard  .Antony's  discomfiture  !  The  cowardice  and  effeminacy  of  the 
latter  are  not  positively  described,  but  cannot  fail  to  strike  us  at  once  (as  they 
did  the  contemporary  public),  by  the  forcible  contrast  with  Cleopatra's 
intrepidity.  This  ill-fated  queen  receives  due  honour  from  the  poet,  who  shows 
that  he  can  appreciate  a  daring  spirit  even  in  an  enemy.  To  my  own  version 
I  have  annexed  Victor  Hugo's  celebrated  French  translation,  as  sung  at  the 
Porte  St.  Martin,  with  rapturous  applause,  in  his  "  Cleopatre,  Tragedie,  par 
I'Auteur  de  Marie  Tudor." 


ODE  XXXVII.— THE  DEFEAT  OF  CLEOPATRA. 


A  Joyful  Ballad. 


The  Ballad. 
I. 

Now,  comrades,  drink 
Full  bumpers,  undiluted  ! 

Now,  dancers,  link 
Firm  hands,  and  freely  foot  it  ! 

Now  let  the  priests. 
Mindful  of  Nlma's  ritual. 

Spread  victim-feasts, 
And  keep  the  rites  habitual  ! 


II. 

'Till  now,  'twas  wrong 
T'  unlock  th'  ancestral  cellar, 

Where  dormant  long 
Bacchus  remain'd  a  dweller ; 

While  Egypt's  queen 
Vow'd  to  erase  (fond  woman  !) 

Rome's  walls,  and  e'en 
The  verj^  name  of  Roman  ! 


III. 

Girt  with  a  band 
Of  craven-hearted  minions. 

Her  march  she  plann'd 
Through  Cesar's  broad  dominions  ! 

With  visions  sweet 
Of  coming  conquest  flatter'd  ; 

When,  lo  !  her  fleet 
Ac  RIP  PA  fired  and  scatter'd  ! 


"Ad  Sodales." 
I. 

Nunc  est  bibendum, 
Nunc  pede  libero 
Pulsanda  tellus, 
Nunc  Saliaribus 
Omare  pulvinar 
Deorum 
Tempus  erat 
Dapibus,  sodales  ! 

Airde  "Malbrook." 
I. 

Or  siis  I  huvotis 

Plein  verre; 
Daitsons  ,/rappons 

La  terre, 
Dejlettrs  ornons, 

Pour  plaire 
Aux  Dieux,  tousnos 
Autels.         {dz's.) 

II. 

II. 

Antehac  nefas 
DepromereCascubura 
Cellis  avitis,  _ 
Dum  Capitolio 

Regina 
Dementes  ruinas 

Funus  et 
Imperio  parabat. 

Sars  !  Hire  et  sans 

Entrave 
Bacchus,  qui  dans 

Ta  cave 
Languis  deux  ans; 

Qu'Octave 
Centre  Egypte  est  en 
guerre          {bis.) 

III. 

III. 

Contaminate 
Cum  grege  turpium 
^lorbo  virorum, 
Quidlibet  impotens  " 
Sperare,  fortunaque 
dulci 
Ebria,     Sed 
Minuit  furorem 

D'tm  vil  ramas 

Que  rnene 
Sajlotte,  helas  I 

La  Reinc 
N'attendait  pas 

Qu' a  peine 
Le  quart  lui 

resterait      {bis. ) 

IV. 

While  C^SAR  left 
Nor  time  nor  space  to  rally: 

Of  all  bereft 
— All,  save  a  single  galley — 

Fain  to  escape 
When  fate  and  friends  forsook  her, 

Of  Egj'pt's  grape 
She  quaff 'd  the  maddening  liquor  ; 


IV. 

Vix  una  sospes 
Navis  ab  ignibus, 
Mentemque  lympha- 
tam  Mareotico 

Redegit  in 
Veros  timores 

Caesar,  ab 
Italia  volantem 


IV. 

Sa  nef  au  vent 

Se  livre ; — 
Cesar  se  prend 

A  suivre; — 
Elle,  enfuyant 

S'er!/-:'re 
Du  7':n  dcs  bords  du 
:;iL  {bis.) 


And  mm'd  her  back 
On  Italy's  fair  region  ; — 

When  soars  the  hawk, 
So  flies  the  timid  pigeon  ; 

So  flies  the  hare, 
Pursued  by  Scythia's  hunter, 

O'er  fallows  bare, 
Athwart  the  snows  of  winter. 


Remis  adurgens, 
Accipiter  velut 
Molles  columbas, 
Aut  leporem  citus 

Venator  in 
Campis  nivalis 

HyEMONI^, 

Daret  ut  catenis 


V. 

Comme  un  vautour 

Peploye 
Son  aile  et  cotirt 

Sa  proie, 
Cesar,  ce  jcntr 

De  joye 
Sur  I  'ocean 

voguait  I      (bis.) 


VI. 

The  die  was  cast, 
And  chains  she  knew  t'  await  her  ;- 

Queen  to  the  last, 
She  spum'd  the  foeman's  fetter  ; 

Nor  shelter  sought 
In  hidden  harbours  meanly  ; — 

Nor  fear'd  the  thought 
Of  death — but  met  it  queenly  ! 


VI. 

Fatale  monstrum : 
Quae  generosius 
Perire  quaerens 
Nee  muliebriter 
Expavit  ensem. 
Nee  latentes 
Classe  cita 
Reparavit  oras. 


VI. 

Lors  elle  a  part 

Proscn'te, 
Fixe  un  regard 

Tacite 
Sur  son  poignard, 

Et  quitte 
Tout  espoir  d'e- 

chapper.        [bis. ) 


VII. 

Untaught  to  bend. 
Calm  'mid  a  tottering  palace — 

'Mid  scenes  that  rend 
Weak  woman's  bosom,  callous — 

Her  arm  could  grasp 
The  WTithing  snake  ;  nor  waver, 

\Miile  of  the  asp 
It  drank  the  venom'd  slaver  ! 


VII. 

Ausa  et  jacentem 
Visere  regiam 
Vuitu  sj^reno, 
Fortis  et  asperas 
Tractare  serpentes, 
Ut  atrum 
_  Corpore  com- 
biberet  venenum. 


VII. 

Toit  mis  a  bos 

Sofi  trone. 
Sans  que  le  cos 

Uetontie  ; 
Sans  q7ie  son  bras 

frisonne 
Un  serpent y 

^ri viper  !     (bis. ) 


VIII. 

Grim  Death  unawed 
She  hail'd  with  secret  rapture. 

Glad  to  defraud 
Rome's  galleys  of  a  capture  ! 

And,  haughty  dame. 
Scorning  to  live,  the  agent 

Of  REGAL  shame. 
To  grace  a  Roman  pageant ! 


VIII. 

UenDeratA 
Morte  ferocior  ; 
Sae\ns  Libumis 
Scilicet  invadens 
Privata  deduci 
Superbo 
Non  humilis 
Mulier  triumpho. 


VIII. 

£t  par  sa  fnort 

Esquive 
D'entrer  au  port 

Captive  ; 
A  insi  le  sort 

Vous  p>rive 
Romains .'  d'zcn  beau 
regal !  {bis. ) 


Directions  for  supper  are  appropriately  given  in  the  concluding  ode  of  the 
book;  they  are  short  and  significant.  I  think  I  may  now  call  for  a  fresh 
tumbler  myself.     Molly  !  bring  me  the  "  materials  /" 


ODE  XXXVIII. 
Last  Ode  of  Book  the  First. 

AD   MINISTRfM.      DIRECTIONS   FOR  SfPPER. 


I. 

Slave  !  for  my  feast,  in  humble  grot 
Let  Persia's  pomps  be  all  forgot  ; 
With  twining  garlands  worry  not 

Thy  weary  fingers. 
Nor  heed  in  what  secluded  spot 

I'he  last  rose  lingers. 


I. 

Persicos  odi,  puer,  apparatus  ; 
Displicent  nexae  phil>Ta  coronae  : 
Mitte  sectari,  rosa  quo  locorum 
Sera  moretur. 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  447 


II.  II. 

Let  but  a  modest  myrtle-wreath,  Simplici  myrto  nihil  allabores 

In  graceful  guise,  our  temples  sheathe —  Sedulus  curae  ;  neque  te  ministrum 

Nor  thou  nor  I  aught  else  herewith  Dedecet  myrtus,  neque  me  sub  arcta 

Can  want,  I'm  thinking,  Vite  bibentem. 

Cupbearer  thou  ; — and  I,  beneath 

The  wine-tree  drinking. 


44^  1^^^  Works  of  FaiJier  Front. 


XXV. 

(Frasers  Magazine,  December,  1836.) 


[Oddly  associated  with  this  concluding  instalment  of  the  Songs  of  Horace  done  into 
English  by  Mahony,  through  the  mere  coincidence  of  their  appearing  in  the  same  num- 
ber of  Regina,  is  Croquis'  comical  etching  of  Buckstone,  the  low  comedian,  seated  by 
his  fireside,  with  aids  to  reflection  as  suggestive  as  a  little  cluster  of  glasses  and  decan- 
ters. This,  the  last  of  the  Prout  Papers,  held  the  place  of  honour  in  Regina  s  closing 
number  for  1836,  standing,  that  is.  to  say,  at  the  forefront  of  the  JSIagazine.] 


Decade  the  Fifth. 


"  NIL  ADMIRARI  prope  res  est  una  Numici 
Solaque  quae  possit  facere  et  servare  beatum." 

HoR.,  Lib.  I.  Epist.  VI. 

" '  Not  to  admire  is  all  tJte  art  I  kncTM 

To  7nake  moi  happy,  and  to  keep  them  so  ' — 

Plain  truth,  dear  iSIurray,  needs  no  flowers  of  speech  : 

So  take  it  in  the  very  words  of  Creech." 

Pope's  Epistle  to  Lord  Mansfield. 

"  But,  had  none  admired. 
Would  Pope  have  sung,  or  Horace  been  inspired?... 
Gad  !  I  must  say  I  ne'er  could  see  the  very 
Great  happiness  of  this  '  NIL  ADMIRARI.'" 

BvKON,  Juan,  canto  v.  st.  100,  lor. 

If  the  sentiment  sought  to  be  conveyed  by  the  deepest  moralist,  as  well  as  the 
sweetest  songster  of  Rome,  be  correctly  given  " /«  the  words  vf  Creech,"  we 
must  confess  our  utter  inability  to  comprehend,  and  our  decided  repugnance  to 
adopt  it;  for,  in  the  catalogue  of  pleasurable  sensations  which  help  to  make 
life  endurable,  we  would  rank  at  its  very  highest  value  that  delightful  and 
exalted  feeling  which  in  psychology  is  termed  admiration.  We  hold  the 
legitimate  indulgence  of  that  faculty  to  constitute  a  most  refined  species  of  in- 
tellectual enjoyment— not  the  less  to  be  prized,  for  that  the  objects  which  call 
it  forth  happen  to  be  scarce,  and  that  opportunities  are  seldom  afforded  of 
yielding  up  the  soul  to  its  delightful  influence.     Other  and  opposite  emotions 


The  Songs  of  Horace.     ^  449 


can  be  felt  at  every  hand's  turn.  Take,  for  example,  those  of  pity  or  con- 
tempt. Fit  objects  of  compassion  abound  :  Palmerston,  for  instance  (like  the 
poor),  we  have  with  us  always;  and  as  for  the  rest  of  the  crawling  set,  from 
Russell  to  Rice,  from  Melbourne  to  Mulgrave,  they  seem,  day  after  day,  but 
to  exist  that  the  world  may  not  lack  a  public  exhibition  of  all  that  is  truly  des- 
picable. Laughter,  also,  maybe  enjoyed  at  a  cheap  rate.  "  Boz  "  wields 
(and  long  may  he  flourish  it !)  an  indefatigable  pen ;  Reeve  is  come  back ;  and 
our  old  favourite,  Brougham,  is  busy  bottling  up  a  rich  stock  of  buffoonery 
qucB  7nox  deproinat  among  the  Lords.  But  admir.\tion  bides  her  time  : 
her  visits,  angelic  fashion,  are  few  and  far  between.  Yet  is  her  presence  ever 
sure  to  be  felt  while  calm  philosophy,  pellucid  reason,  and  patriot  eloquence 
flow  from  the  hps  of  Lyndhurst. 

In  literature,  we  are  accused  of  being  over  fastidious;  forasmuch,  perhaps, 
as  we  value  our  admiration  too  highly  to  lavish  it  on  every  passmg  scribbler. 
The  North  American  Rcvicu)  is  here  peculiarly  amusing.  In  its  October 
number,  just  received,  and  now  lying  in  our  waste-paper  box,  much  comical 
indignation  is  vented  on  Oliver  Yorke  for  slighting  a  poor  creature  who 
some  time  ago  pencilled  his  way  among  us,  and  has  been  since  forgotten.  All 
li'c  can  rerrtember  about  the  man  was  his  publishing  what  he  called  a  poem, 
"edited"  by  "  Barry  Cornwall,"  a  fictitious  name,  under  which  one  Proctor, 
a  commissioner  of  lunacy  in  our  courts,  thought  it  part  of  his  official  functions 
to  usher  him  into  notice.  We  did  not  advert  to  that  circumstance  at  the  time, 
or  we  should  have  taken  the  hint,  and  adopted  towards  him,  not  the  severity 
of  justly  provoked  criticism,  but  the  mild  indulgence  suited  to  his  case.  For 
we  did  not  require  the  evidence  of  this  "  reviewer  s"  article  to  convince  us 
that  rational  rebuke  is  wasted  when  the  mind  of  the  recipient  is  unsound.  We 
are  glad,  however,  of  the  opportunity  afforded  us,  by  this  casual  reference  to 
American  matters,  for  placing  on  record  our  unfeigned  and  cordial  admiration 
of  Edwin  Forrest,  whom  night  after  night  we  have  seen  tread  our  stage 
after  a  fashion  which  none  but  the  disingenuous  can  hesitate  to  admire  and  to 
applaud. 

It  was  observed  of  Charlemain,  that  greatness  had  so  mixed  itself  up  with 
his  character,  that  it  eventually  compenetrated  his  very  name,  till  magnificence 
and  Charles  were  blended  into  the  sound  of  Carlomagne.  The  sentiment 
of  admir.-vtion  has  similarly  worked  itself  into  individual  nomenclature  on 
two  occasions  :  viz.  in  the  case  of  St.  Gregory,  "  Thaiunaturge,"  and  in  that 
of  an  accomplished  cavalier  who  burst  on  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century 
as  "  the  tz^w/rai^/^  Crichton."  To  the  story  of  tiiat  gallant  scholar  we  have, 
in  another  part  of  our  current  Number,  taken  an  opportunity  of  alluding  ; 
and  having  therein,  as  we  think,  fairly  plucked  out  the  heart  of  the  mystery, 
we  shall  not  here  stop  to  notice  a  book  which  will  probably  be  the  /xtyct  Oai/fxa 
of  the  season. 

But  returning  to  the  "  words  of  Creech,"  do  they  fairly  give  the  meaning  of 
Horace?  We  don't  believe  it.  The  plain  English  of  the  maxim  is,  "Let 
nothing  take  you  by  surprise;"  and  its  practical  effect  would  merely  go  to  pre- 
serve the  equilibrium  of  the  mind  from  any  sudden  and  violent  upset.  The' 
translation  of  Creech  affords  one  of  the  many  instances  in  which  to  be  literal  is 
to  misinterpret.  Old  Roger  Bacon  attributes  the  subtle  fooleries  of  scholastic 
wrangling  which  arose  in  his  day  to  the  bad  Latin  versions  of  Aristotle.  A 
Greek  term  was  Latinized  into  one  apparently  synonymous,  and  the  meta- 
physical niceties  of  the  original  vanished  in  the  process.  Vulgus  studentium 
asininat  circa  male  translata  are  the  words  in  which  he  of  the  brazen  head 
ridicules  contemporary  disputation.  The  dehcate  subtleties  of  poetical  diction 
are  still  more  evanescent  ;  and  of  translations  which  render  with  mere  verbal 
fidehty,  it  may  be  said,  when  they  appear  side  by  side  with  the  text,  that, 
though  Venus  may  preside  over  the  graceful  original,   the  clumsy  version 

R 


45  o  T^i^  Works  of  Father  Pront. 

hobbles  with  all  the  awkwardness  of  Vulcan.  Such  was  the  idea  of  a  French 
wit,  on  perusing  Abbe  Pelegrin's  translation  of  our  poet — 

"  L'on  devrait  (soit  dit  entre  nous) 

A  deux  divinites  oflFrir  les  deux  Horaces  : 
Le  latin  a  Venus  la  deese  dcs  graces, 
Et  le  fran9ois...a  son  epoux." 

•  La  M  on  nave. 

In  a  Venetian  folio  edition,  pubhshed  by  the  celebrated  Denis  Lambinus 
(whose  style  of  writing  was  so  tedious,  that  "  lambiner"  became  French  for 
"  to  loiter"),  there  are  some  complimentary  verses  addressed  to  him,  which  he 
has  taken  care  to  print,  and  which  are  too  good  to  be  forgotten.  Therein 
Horace  is  represented  as  consulting  a  sag.i,  or  Roman  gipsy,  concerning  the 
future  fate  of  his  works;  when,  alluding  to  the  ophthalmic  affection  under 
A\hich  he  is  known  to  have  laboured,  the  prophetic  hag  maketh  the  vaticina- 
tion following — 

Talia  respondit  mota  rates  anus  iirna^ 

"  Dura  parens  genuit  te  lippum,  Flacce  ;  noverca 

"  Durior  eripiet  mox  aetas  lumen  utrumque, 

"  Nee  teipsum  agnosces  nee  cognosceris  ab  ullo. 

"  At  tibi  Lambini  raptum  colK-ria  lumen 
Inlita  restituent  :  clarusque  interprete  tanto 

"  Nee  lippus  nee  easeus  eris  sed  et  integer  ore." 

Whereupon  Denis  triumphantly  exclaims  that  what  she  foretold  has  come  to 
pass,  since,  by  the  operation  of  his  commentaries,  such  additional  perspicuity 
has  been  shed  over  the  text  as  to  have  materially  improved  the  poet's  eyesight — 

"  Verum  dixit  anus, — h.c  sunt  collvria  chart.-e  I  " 

The  personal  infirmity  thus  alluded  to  had  procured  for  the  Latin  lyrist  a 
sobriquet  well  known  among  his  contemporaries,  viz.  "  the  v;eeping  Flaccus  :" 
nor  can  we  refuse  the  merit  of  ingenuity  to  him  who  could  make  so  unpoetical 
an  idea  the  groundwork  of  so  flattering  a  compliment.  It  is  singular  enough 
that  these  obscure  lines  should  have  suggested  a  celebrated  epigram  ;  for  when 
Lefranc  de  Pompignan,  in  his  "  Poesies  Sacrees,"  versified  the  Lamentations  of 
Jeremiah,  he  received  a  testimonial  exceedingly  analogous  from  Voltaire — 

"  Scavez  vous  pourquoi  Jeremie,  Know  ye  why  Jeremv,  that  holy  man, 

A  tant  pleure  pendant  sa  vie?  Spent  all  his  days  in  lamentations  bitter? 

C'est  qu'en  prophete  il  prevoyait.  Prophetic  soul !  he  knew  that  Pompignan 

Qu'un  jour  Lefranc  le  traduerait.  One  day  would  bring  him  out  in  Gallic  metre. 

That  the  labours  of  the  father  may  call  forth  a  similar  congratulaton.-  effusion 
is  more  than  we  dare  conjecture  in  these  critical  times.  Yet  we  trust  that,  not- 
withstanding the  general  depreciation  of  all  sorts  of  scrip,  with  exchequer  bills 
at  such  an  alarming  discount,  Prout  paper  may  be  still  negotiated. 

Oliver  Yorke. 
Regent  Street,  Nov.  20. 


Watergrasshill;  after  Vespers. 
A  few  years  previous  to  the  outbreak  of  civil  war  between  Octavius  and 
Alarc  Antony,  the  poet  Horace  and  a  Greek  professor  of  elocution  (Heliodorus) 
received  an  intimation  from  Mccanas  of  his  wish  to  enjoy  their  company  on  a 
trip  connected  with  some  diplomatic  mission  [missi  inugnis  de  rebus)  to  the 
port  of  Benevento.     The  proposal  was  readily  accepted  by  these  hommcs  di 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  451 

lettres,  who  accordingly  started  from  Rome  toward  the  close  of  autumn,  anno 
u.C.  720.  Their  intelligent  patron  had  appointed  to  meet  them  at  Anxur,  a 
place  better  known  by  its  more  musical  name  of  Terkacina,  — (two  popular 
productions  contributing  to  its  celebrity, viz.  "  Horatii  Opera,"  and  the  opera  of 
"  Fra  Diavolo") — whence,  having  received  an  important  accession  to  their  party 
by  the  arrival  of  Virgil  and  Varius,  they  proceeded  by  easy  ages  along  the 
whole  line  of  the  Via  Appia,  to  the  utmost  terminus  of  that  immortal  cause- 
way on  the  Adriatic. 

Such  excursions  were  frequent  enough  among  the  cockneys  of  Rome ;  and 
forming,  as  these  things  did,  part  of  the  ordinar>'  occurrences  of  common- 
place life,  had  intrinsically  httle  to  recommend  them  to  the  poet  or  the  historian 
as  subjects  for  story  or  for  song.  The  proverbial  difficulty  of  raising  up  such 
matters  to  the  level  of  elegant  composition^rf/r/t?  coynviunia  dicerc  [Ep.  ad. 
Piso?i.)—\vas  here  pre-eminent.  But  genius  is,  perhaps,  as  frequently  displayed 
in  the  selection  of  the  objects  on  which  to  exercise  its  faculty  as  in  the  working 
out  of  its  once  adopted  conceptions  ;  and  mediocrity  would  no  more  have  first 
chosen  such  a  theme  for  its  musings,  than  it  would  have  afterwards  treated  it 
in  the  manner  it  has  been  executed  by  Horace. 

''Cose  i)i prosa  viai  dette  ne  in  riina  " 
formed  the  aspiration  of  Ariosto ;  Milton  gloried  in  grappling  with 
"  Things  unattempted  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme ; " 

and  both  exhibited  originality,  not  only  in  the  topics  they  fixed  upon,  but  in 
their  method  of  handling  them.  The  iter  Briindiisii  was  without  precedent 
in  all  the  range  of  previously  existing  literature ;  it  has  remained  unrivalled 
amid  all  the  sketches  of  a  similar  kind  which  have  been  called  into  existence 
by  its  felicitous  example. 

There  was,  doubtless,  nothing  very  new  or  wondrous  in  the  practice  of  keep- 
ing a  note-book  while  on  a  journey,  or  in  registering  duly  each  tri\ial  incident 
of  roadside  experience.  But  when  this  ex-colonel  of  a  legion  at  Philippi,  m 
one  of  his  leisure  hours,  at  the  remote  outport  whither  he  had  accompanied  an 
illustrious  friend,  conceived  the  idea  of  embodying  the  contents  of  his ///^/Z- 
liria  into  the  graceful  shape  which  they  now  wear  (Lib.  I.  Sat.  V.),  giving 
them  a  local  habitation  and  a  permanency  among  his  works,  he  did  more  than 
merely  delight  his  travelling  companions,  immortahze  the  villages  along  the 
route,'  and  electrify  bv  his  graphic  touch  the  listless  idlers  of  the  capital ;  he 
posiii'vely  founded  a  new  sect— he  propounded  the  Koran  of  a  new  creed- 
he  established  the  great  SCHOOL  of  "peripatetic"  writers;  furnishing  the 
precious  prototvpe  on  which  thousands  of  disciples  would,  in  after  time,  sys- 
tematically model  their  hterary  compositions.  By  thus  showing  that  the 
mere  personal  occurrences  and  anecdotes  of  a  pleasure  trip  were  capable  of 
being  "wrought  into  so  interesting  a  narrative,  he  unconsciously,  by  opening 
a  new  department  in  the  theory  of  bookmaking,  furnished  a  new  field  for 
the  industry  of  the  pen.  There  is  no  conjecturing  how  far  a  simple  hint  may 
be  improved  on  in  this  quarter.  Had  not  the  African  enthusiasm  of  St. 
Auo-u'^tin  suggested  to  that  most  impassioned  of  the  Fathers  the  idea  of  pub- 
lishing his  "Confessions,"  the  practice  of  composing  personal  memoirs,_the 
art  of  autobiography,  which  of  late  years  has  taken  such  wide  extension, 
would,  perhaps,  have  never  been  attempted.  Peter  Abelard  would  n?t  /lave 
mustered  courage  to  enlighten  the  dark  ages,  as  he  has  done,  with  a  lull  ana 
true  account  of  his  doleful  catastrophe  [" historia  calanniatian  suarum  )\ 
and  a  later  age  would  not,  in  all  probability,  have  been  favoured  with  the  con- 
fessions of  the  maniac  Rousseau.  May  it  not  be  similarly  Predicated  ot  this 
famous  Itinerary,  that  had  it  not  given  the  first  impulse,  the  world  had  wantea 
many  an  idle  ' '  ToUR  ?  " 


452  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

"Rhymes  on  the  road,"  "  penciUings  by  the  way,"  "impressions," 
"diaries,"  "ramblings,"  "records,"  "highways,"  "byeways,"  are  therefore 
but  a  few  of  the  many  emanations  from  one  common  source  :  and,  in  good 
sooth,  all  these  people  should  unite  in  some  testimonial  to  Horace.  But  grati- 
tude, I  fear,  is  rarely  manifested  in  cases  of  this  description.  A  striliing 
instance  might  be  given.  To  none,  perhaps,  are  "the  eminent  modem 
humorous  writers"  more  indebted  than  to  the  writings  of  "Joe  Miller;"  yet 
that  author,  up  to  the  present  day,  is  without  a  monument;  his  bones  lying, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  in  the  churchyard  of  St.  Clement,  London,  under  the 
back  windows  of  Tom  Wood's  tavern.  'Tis  true  that  a  club  was  established 
some  years  ago,  by  the  exertions  of  the  two  Smiths  (Horace  and  James),  with 
Hook  and  Hood,  the  members  of  which  dine  monthly  in  the  back  parlour 
aforesaid,  commanding  a  full  view  of  the  cemetery.  They  fully  agreed  to  levy 
a  fine  of  five  shillings  on  each  detected  perpetrator  of  a  "Joe,"  devoting  the 
proceeds  to  the  purchase  of  a  gravestone.  By  this  time  a  goodly  mausoleum 
might  have  been  built  ;  whereas  old  AIolitor  is  yet  without  even  a  modest 
tablet  to  mark  the  spot  of  his  repose.     Who  is  the  treasurer  ? 

Horace  should  not  be  similarly  defrauded  of  his  claim.  A  moderate  per- 
centage on  the  profits  of  each  professed  tourist,  with  a  slight  deodand  where 
the  book  falls  still-born,  might  be  appropriately  devoted  to  erecting  a  terminal 
statue  of  the  poet  in  some  central  part  of  the  "  Row."  None  ought  to  plead 
exemption  from  this  "justice  rent."  Inglis,  Basil  Hall,  Quin,  Barrow,  Ritchie, 
PUckler  Muskau,  Emmerson  Tennant,  Professor  Hoppus ;  Waterton,  the 
wanderer  ;  Nick  Willis,  the  eavesdropper;  Rae  Wilson,  the  booby  :  all  should 
contribute— except,  perhaps,  Holman,  the  "blind  traveller,"  whose  under- 
taking was  perfectly  original. 

To  return.  I  have  just  been  reading  over,  for  perhaps  the  hundredth  time, 
the  witty  Romans  gay  and  graceful  itinerar>',  gathering  from  its  perusal  a 
fresh  conviction,  that  it  comprises  more  humour,  point,  and  clever  writing, 
within  the  brief  range  of  its  one  hundred  lines,  than  are  to  be  found  in  as  many 
hundred  octavo  volumes  of  recent  manufacture.  But  let  that  pass.  The 
obvious  beauties  which  distinguish  these  enduring  monuments  of  bygone  genius 
are  not  the  passages  which  stand  most  in  need  of  commentary ;  and  I  am  just 
now  about  to  fix  myself  on  a  very  unimportant  expression  occurring  in  the 
simple  course  of  the  poet's  narrative  ;  a  most  trivial  fact  in  itself,  but  particu- 
larly adapted  to  my  present  purpose.  Swift's  m.editations  on  a  broomstick 
have  long  ago  proved  that  the  Imagination,  like  one  of  Teniers'  witches,  will 
soar  aloft  on  a  hobby-horse  of  her  own  selection.  Of  late,  the  habit  of  in- 
dulging in  reveries  has,  I  confess,  grown  upon  me ;  and  I  feel  an  increasing 
tendency  to  ruminate  on  the  veriest  trifles.  This  arises  partly,  I  suppose,  from 
the  natural  discursiveness  of  memory  in  old  age  ;  partly,  I  suspect,  from  the 
long  familiarity  of  my  mind  with  the  great  Cornelius  a  Lapide's  elucidations  of 
the  prophet  Ezekiel. 

The  words  on  which  I  would  ponder  thus,  after  the  most  approved  method 
of  the  great  Flemish  commentator,  are  contained  in  the  48th  verse,  which  runs 
as  follows  in  all  the  known  MSS.  : 

"  Lusum  it  Mecaenas  ;  dormitum  ego  'Virgiliusque." 

Lib.  /.  Sat.  V.  v.  48. 

My  approved  good  master,  A  Lapide,  would  hereupon,  submitting  each  term 
to  the  more  than  chemical  analysis  of  his  scrutiny,  first  point  out  to  the  admi- 
ration of  all  functionaries  in  the  diplomatic  line,  who  happen  to  be  charged 
with  a  secret  mission,  the  sagacious  conduct  of  MECiENAS.  The  envoy  of 
Augustus  is  fully  conscious,  on  his  arrival  at  Capua,  that  his  motions  are 
narrowly  watched  by  the  quidnuncs  of  that  vagabond  town,  and  that  the 


The  Songs  of  Horace.  453 

probable  object  of  his  journey  is  sure  to  be  discussed  by  every  barber  in  and 
about  the  market-place.  How  does  he  act  ?  While  the  mules  are  resting  at 
the  "  caupona  "  (for  it  appears  the  vetturini  system  of  travelling  is  of  very  old 
date  in  the  Italian  peninsula),  the  charge  d ajf aires  seeks  out  a  certain  tennis- 
court,  the  most  favourite  place  of  pubhc  resort,  and  there  mingles  in  a  game 
with  the  citizens,  as  if  the  impending  destinies  of  the  future  empire  of  the 
world  were  not  a  moment  in  his  contemplation,  or  did  not  rather  engross  his 
whole  faculties  all  the  while.  This  anecdote,  I  beheve,  has  not  been  noticed 
by  Mr.  Taylor,  in  his  profound  book  called  the  "Statesman."  It  is  at  his 
ser\'ice. 

Leaving  Mecasnas  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  game  of  rackets,  let  us  return  to 
the  Capuan  hostelry,  and  take  cognizance  of  what  may  be  supposed  to  be  then 
and  there  going  on.  Here,  then,  we  are,  say,  at  the  sign  of  "  Silenus  and  the 
Jackass,"  in  the  "  Via  Nolayia."  In  answer  to  our  inquiries,  it  will  appear 
that  the  author  of  the  "  Georgics"  (the  "yEneid"  was  yet  unpublished)  had,  as 
usual  with  him  on  the  shghtest  emergencies,  found  his  stomach  sadly  out  of 
order  {crudus) ;  while  his  fellow-traveller,  the  distinguished  lyrist  of  the  day, 
has  sympathetically  complained  of  the  effect  produced  on  his  tender  eyelids 
(lippus)  by  the  clouds  of  incessant  dust  and  the  glare  of  a  noonday  sun.  They 
have  both,  therefore,  previous  to  resuming  their  seats  in  the  clumsy  vehicles 
{rheda)  which  have  conveyed  them  thus  far,  decided  on  devoting  the  sultry 
meridian  hour  to  the  refreshing  process  of  a  quiet  siesta.  The  slave  within 
whose  attributions  this  service  is  comprised  [decurio  cahicnlaris)  is  quickly 
summoned ;  and  but  few  minutes  have  elapsed  before  the  two  great  ornaments 
of  the  Augustan  age,  the  master  spirits  of  the  then  intellectual  world,  are 
fairly  deposited  in  their  respective  cells,  and  consigned  to  the  care  of  tired 
nature's  kind  restorer.  Whoever  has  explored  the  existing  remains  of  similar 
edifices  in  the  neighbouring  town  of  Pompeii,  will  probably  form  a  fair  esti- 
mate of  the  scale  of  comfort  and  style  of  accommodation  prevalent  at  the 
head  inn  of  Capua.  Entering  by  a  smoky  hall  [atrium),  the  kitchen  being  on 
one  side  and  the  ser\-ants'  offices  on  the  other,  your  traveller  proceeded  towards 
the  co7npluviu7n,  or  open  quadrangular  courtyard  ;  on  each  side  of  which,  in 
cloister  fashion,  were  ranged  the  sleeping  apartments,  small  dark  chambers, 
each  some  eight  or  twelve  feet  square,  having,  at  the  height  of  about  six 
feet  from  the  mosaic  ground-floor,  a  scanty  aperture,  furnished  with  a  hnen 
bhnd;  a  crockery  lamp,  a  bronze  tripod  and  basin  [pelvis],  a  mirror  of  the 
same  material,  forming,  with  a  hard  couch  [siragula),  the  complete  inventory 
of  the  movables  within.  A  knight  templar,  or  Carthusian  monk,  would  feel 
quite  at  home  in  your  antique  hostelry. 

Little  dreamed,  I  ween,  the  attendant  slave,  mayhap  still  less  the  enlightened 
caiipo  himself,  of  the  high  honour  conferred  on  his  establishment  by  an  hour's 
occupancy  of  its  chambers  on  that  occasion.  The  very  tall  gentleman,  with 
an  ungainly  figure  and  slight  stoop  in  the  shoulders,  so  awkward  and  bashful 
in  his  address,  and  who  had  complained  of  such  bad  digestion,  became,  no 
doubt,  the  object  of  a  few  not  over  respectful  remarks  among  the  atrienses  of 
the  household.  Nor  did  the  short,  fat,  Sancho  Panza-looking  sort  of  personage, 
forming  in  every  respect  so  complete  a  contrast  to  his  demure  and  sedate 
companion,  fail  to  elicit  some  curious  comments,  and  some  not  very  compli- 
mentar)^  conjectures,  as  to  what  might  be  /as  relative  position  in  society.  In 
what  p'articular  capacity  did  thev  both  follow  the  train  of  the  rich  knight, 
Mecaenas?  This  was,  no  doubt,  acutely  and  dihgently  canvassed  by  the  gossips 
of  the  inn.  One  thing  was  certain.  In  humour  and  disposition,  as  well  as  in 
personal  appearance,  thev  were  the  verv  antipodes  of  each  other,  — a  musing 
Herachtus  voked  with  a' laughing  Deiiiocritus;  aptly  illustrative,  the  one  of 
il  fenseroso,  the  other  of  I  allegro.  Mine  host,  with  the  instinctive  sagacity  of 
his  tribe,  at  once  had  set  down  Horace  as  a  man  familiar  with  the  metropolis, 


habituated  to  town  life,  and  in  every  respect  "fit  to  travel."  It  was  equally 
clear  that  the  other  individual  belonged  to  the  agricultural  interest,  his  manner 
savouring  of  much  residence  in  the  country  ;  being,  in  sooth,  not  merely  rural, 
but  actually  rustic.  In  a  word,  they  were  fair  samples  of  the  rat  de  ville  and 
the  rat  des  champs.  Meantime  the  unconscious  objects  of  so  much  keen 
investigation  "  slept  on  ; "  and  "little  they  recked"  anent  what  was  thus 
"lightly  spoken"  concerning  them  by  those  who  kept  the  sign  of  "  Silenus 
and  the  Jackass,"  in  the  high  street  at  Capua. 

"  Dormitum  ego  Virgiliusque." 

Do  I  purpose  to  disturb  tliem  in  their  meridian  slumber? — Not  I  Yet  may 
the  scholars  fancy  be  allowed  to  penetrate  each  darkened  cell,  and  take  a 
hurried  and  furtive  glance  at  the  illustrious  sleepers.  Fancy  may  be  permitted 
to  hover  o'er  each  recumbent  form,  and  contemplate  in  silent  awe  the  repose 
of  genius.  Fancy,  after  the  fashion  of  her  sister  Psyche,  and  at  the  risk  of 
a  similar  penalty,  may  be  suffered,  on  tiptoe,  and  lamp  in  hand,  to  explore  the 
couch  of  her  beloved,  to  survey  the  features  and  figure  of  those  from  whom 
she  hath  so  long  derived  such  exquisite  sensations  of  intellectual  enjoyment. 

Plutarch  delighted  to  bring  two  of  his  heroes  together,  and  then,  in  a 
laboured  parallel,  illustraie  the  peculiarities  of  the  one  by  setting  forth  the 
distinctive  characteristics  of  the  other.  This  was  also  done  by  Dr.  Johnson,  in 
his  grand  juxtaposition  of  Dryden  and  Virgil.  But  could  a  more  tempting 
opportunity  ever  occur  to  the  great  Boeotian,  or  the  great  lexicographer,  for  a 
display  of  analysis  and  antithesis,  than  the  respective  merits  and  powers  of  the 
two  great  writers  here  entranced  before  us? 

The  Capuan  innkeeper  had  gone  more  deeply  into  the  subject  than  would  be 
at  first  imagined,  when  he  classified  his  guests  under  the  heads  of  "town" 
and  "country."  The  most  elaborately  metaphysical  essay  could  not  throw 
greater  light  on  the  relative  idiosyncrasy  of  their  minds. 

Virgil,  from  his  earliest  infancy  up  to  the  period  of  confirmed  manhood,  had 
not  left  the  banks  of  the  Mixcio,  or  the  plains  of  Lombardy.  It  required  the 
confiscation  of  his  little  farm,  and  the  transfer  of  his  ancestral  acres  to  a  set  of 
quasi  CromiL'ellian  intruders  (Octavius  Caesar's  military  colonists),  to  bring 
him  up  to  Rome  in  quest  of  redress.  He  was  then  in  his  thirtieth  year. 
Tenderness,  sensibility,  a  soul  feelingly  alive  to  all  the  sweet  emotions  of  un- 
vitiated  nature,  are  the  natural  growth  of  such  happy  seclusion  from  a  wicked 
world.  Majestic  thoughts  are  the  offspring  of  solitude.  Plato  meditated  alone 
on  the  promontory  of  Sunium  :  Virgil  was  a  Platonist. 

The  boyhood  and  youth  of  Horace  (as  I  think  may  be  gathered  from  my 
last  paper)  were  spent  in  a  totally  different  atmosphere  ;  and,  therefore,  no  two 
poets  could  be  nurtured  and  trained  in  schools  of  poetr}'  more  essentially  oppo- 
site. The  "  lake"  academy  is  not  more  different  from  the  gymnasium  of  the 
"  silver/ork."  Epicurus  dwelt  among  the  busy  haunts  of  men  :  Horace  was 
an  Epicurean. 

The  latter  was  in  every  respect,  as  his  outward  appearance  would  seem  to 
indicate,  "of  the  town,  townly."  Mirabeau  used  to  say,  whenever  he  left 
Paris,  that,  on  looking  through  his  carriage-windows  at  the  faces  along  the 
road,  he  could  ascertain  to  a  fraction  how  far  he  was  from  the  capital.  The 
men  were  his  milestones.  Even  genius  in  the  provinces  wears  an  aspect  of 
simplicity.  The  Romans  were  perfectly  sensible  of  this  difference.  Urbanum 
sal  was  a  well-known  commodity,  as  easily  distinguished  by  men  of  taste  in 
the  metropolis,  as  the  verbal  provincialisms  which  pervade  the  decades  of 
Livy  were  quickly  detected  by  the  delicate  sensibility  of  metropolitan  ears. 

In  society,  Horace  must  have  shown  to  great  advantage,  in  contrast  with  the 
retiring  and  uncommunicative  Mantuan.    Acute,  briUiant,  satirical,  his  ver- 


satile  accomplishments  fascinated  at  once.  Virgil,  however,  inspired  an  interest 
of  a  different  description.  Thoughtful  and  reserved,  "  the  rapt  soul  sitting  in 
his  eyes"  gave  intimation  of  a  depth  of  feeling  and  a  comprehensi\-eness  of 
intellect  far  beyond  the  range  of  all  contemporary  minds.  Habitually  .silent, 
yet  when  he  spoke,  in  the  solemn  and  exquisitely  musical  cadences  peculiar  to 
his  poetr}^  it  was  as  if  the  "spirit  of  Plato"  revealed  itself,  or  the  Sibylline 
books  were  unfolded. 

I  can't  understand  that  passage  in  the  tenth  satire  (lib.  i.),  where  the  Sabine 
humorist  asserts  that  the  Muses  who  patronize  a  country  life  [gaudefiies  rure 
camoence),  having  endowed  Mrgil  with  a  mild  and  lenient  disposition,  a  dehcate 
sweetness  of  style,  had  also  bestowed  on  him  a  talent  for  \he  facetious  (moUe... 
aique  facet uf}{).  There  is,  assuredly,  more  fun  and  legitimate  drollery  in  a  page 
of  the  said  "Satires,"  than  in  all  the  "Eclogues"  and  " Georgics"Tput  together. 
To  extract  a  laugh  out  of  the  ".-Eneid,"  it  required  the  help  of  Scarron. 

Horace  was  the  delight  of  the  comivial  circle.  The  flashes  of  his  Baccha- 
nalian minstrelsy  brightened  the  blaze  of  the  banquet  ;  and  his  love-songs  were 
the  very  quintessence  of  Roman  refinement.  Yet  never  did  he  achieve  such  a 
triumph  as  is  recorded  of  his  gifted  friend,  when,  having  consented  to  gratify 
the  household  of  Augustus  and  the  imperial  circle  by  reading  a  portion  of  his 
majestic  poem,  he  selected  that  famous  exposition  of  Plato's  sublimest  theories, 
the  6th  book  of  his  ".Eneid."  The  chann  of  his  recitation  gave  additional 
dignity  to  that  high  argument,  so  nobly  developed  in  harmonious  verse.  But 
when  the  intellect  had  feasted  its  fill — when  he  suddenly  "  changed  his  hand," 
and  appealed  to  the  heart — when  the  glowing  episode  of  the  young  Marcellus 
came  by  surprise  on  the  assembled  court,  a  fainting  empress,  amid  the  mingled 
tears  and  applause  of  veteran  warriors,  confessed  the  sacred  supremacy  of 
song. 

The  poetry  of  Horace  is  a  pleasant  thought ;  that  of  Virgil  a  delightful 
dream.  The  first  had  mingled  in  the  world  of  reality ;  the  latter  dwelt  in  a 
fanciful  and  ideal  region,  from  which  he  rarely  came  down  to  the  \'ulgarities  of 
actual  life.  The  tranquil  lake  reflects  heaven  in  its  calm  bosom  ;  the  running 
brook  makes  acquaintance  with  the  thousand  objects  on  its  varied  margin. 
Wordsworth,  Southey,  Coleridge,  Goethe,  Lamartine,  belong  to  ihe  dreamy 
race  of  writers — they  are  "children  of  the  mist " — their  dweUing  is  in  a  land  of 
visions.  Byron,  Beranger,  Bums,  Scott,  Shakespeare,  deal  with  men  and  things 
as  they  have  found  them,  and  as  they  really  are.  The  latter  class  will  ever  be 
the  most  popular.  The  actual  thinker  will  ever  be  preferred  to  the  most 
enchanting  "dreamer  of  dreams." 

In  the  empire  of  Augustus,  Virgil  saw  the  realization  of  ancient  oracles  :  he 
viewed  as  from  a  distance  the  mighty  structure  of  Roman  power,  and  imaged 
in  his  ".^neid"  the  vast  idea  of  a  heaven-descended  monarchy.  Horace  took 
up  his  lantern  d  la  Diogene,  and  went  about  exploring  the  details  of  the  social 
system,  the  vices,  the  follies,  the  passions  of  Roman  society.  His  poetry  was 
of  a  more  matter-of-fact  nature  ;  it  came  home  to  the  bosom  of  his  readers  ;  it 
was  the  exact  expression  of  contemporary  joys  and  sorrows. 

The  character  of  each  as  a  poet  may  not  be  inappropriately  sought  for  in  the 
well-known  allegory  with  which  the  6th  book  of  the  ".-Eneid  "  closes  : 

"  Su7it  getnince  somni  porfce  quaruin  altera  feriur, 
Cornea  qua  veris  facilis  datur  exitus  umbris, 
Altera  candenti perfecta  nitetis  elephanto, 
Sed falsa  ad  coeban  inittitnt  insomnia  manes." 

Or  as  Dryden  has  it — 

"  Two  shining-  gates  the  house  of  sleep  adorn  :         ^^ 
Of  polish'd  ivory  this— that  of  transparent  horn,    S:c. 


456 


The  Works  of  FatJur  Pront. 


I  leave  to  my  reader  the  e%-oU"ing  of  this  cx»mpiex  idea.  The  dreamy  %Tsions 
of  the  Platonist  may  be  placed  in  contrast  with  the  practical  wit  and  know- 
ledge of  the  world  possessed  by  the  shrewd  disciple  of  Epicurus,  the  "^ falsa. 
insomnia  "  with  the  "  veris  umbris."     And  herewith  I  wind  up  my  paralleL 

I  now  open  the  second  book  of  the  odes,  and  proceed  on  my  task  of  metrical 
exposition. 

LIB.  II.     ODE  I.— TO  POLLIO  OX  HIS  MEDITATED 
HISTORY. 


KD  C  .-VSIMCM  POIXIOKEM. 


I. 


The  story  of  our  c:\-i'.  '.var?. 

Through  all  the  char.g--  :-^:  :ef=ll  us, 
To  chronicle  thy  pen  prcp>are5. 

Daring  the  record  from  Metellcs  ; — 
Of  parties  and  of  chiefs  thy  page 

Will  paint  the  leagues,  the  plans,  the  forces  ; 
Follow  them  through  each  varied  stage, 

Azd  trace  the  warfare  to  its  so-^cei. 


II. 


And 


I-  : 
Kn:v. 


Of  Tn-.: 

A 
\\"r. 

r- 

Bu: 

r 

The 

A..-  ...  .  . 


III. 


IV. 

Star  of  the  stage  !  to  thee  the  Law 

Looks  for  her  mildest,  best  ezpoonder — 
Thee  the  rapt  Senate  hears  with  awe. 

Wielding  the  bolts  of  patriot  thunder — 
Thee  Glory  found  beneath  the  teat. 

When,  from  a  desert  wild  and  horrid, 
DALiCATi.\  back  in  triumph  sent 

Her  conqueror,  with  laurell'd  forehead  ! 


But.  hark  !  methinks  the  martial  horn 

Gives  prelude  to  thy  coming  story ; 
In  fancy's  ear  shrill  trum[>ets  warn 

Of  battle-fields,  hard  fought  and  gory  : 
Fancy  hath  conjured  up  the  scene. 

And  phantom  \i-arriors  crowd  beside  her- 
The  squadron  dight  in  dazzling  sheen — 

The  startled  steed — th'  affrighted  rider  ! 


Motiim  ex  Metello 
Consule  ciricum, 
Bellique  causas, 
£t  vitia,  et  modes, 
Ludnmque  Fortunae, 

Gravesque 
Principnm  amicirias, 

£t  arma 

XL 

Nondum  espiatis 
Uncta  cnioribus, 
Periculosse 
Plenum  opus  aleas 

Tractas,  et 
Incedes  per  ignes 

Suppositos 
Cineri  doloso. 

III. 

Pallium  severas 
Jilusa  tranced  ize 
Desit  theatris  : 
Mox,  ubi  publicas 
Res  ordinaris, 
Grande  munus 

Cecropio 
Repetes  cotii-.inio, 

IV. 

Insigne  moestis 
Praesidium  reis 
Et  consulenti, 
PoUio,  Curiae, 

Cui  launis 
.£temos  honores 

Dalmarico 
Peperit  triiun{^. 

V. 

Jam  nimc  minad 
Murmure  comuum 
Perstringis  aures  : 
Jam  litui  strepunt : 
Jam  fulgor  armorum 

Fugaces 
Terret  equos, 
Equitiunqoe  %-ulttis. 


TJie  Songs  of  Horace. 


457 


VI. 

Hark  to  the  shouts  that  echo  loud 

From  mighty  chieftains,  shadow'd  grimly  ! 
While  blood  and  dust  each  hero  shroud, 

Costume  of  slaughter — not  unseemly  : 
Vainly  ye  struggle,  vanquish 'd  brave  ! 

Doom'd  to  see  fortune  still  desert  ye. 
Till  all  the  world  lies  prostrate,  save 

Unconquer'd  Cato's  savage  virtue  ! 

VI  I. 

Juno,  who  loveth  Afric  most, 

And  each  dread  tutelary  godhead, 
Who  guards  her  black  barbaric  coast, 

LvBiA  with  Roman  gore  have  flooded  : 
While  warring  thus  the  sons  of  those 

\\Tiose  prowess  could  of  old  subject  her, 
Glutting  the  grudge  of  ancient  foes. 

Fell— but  to  glad  Jugurtha's  spectre  ! 


VI. 

Audire  magnos 
Jam  videor  duces 
Non  indecoro 
Pulvere  sordidos, 
Et  cuncta  terrarum 

Subacta, 
PrcEter  atrocem 
Animum  Catonis. 

'      VII. 

Juno,  et  Deorum 
Quisquis  amicior 
Afris,  inulta 
Cesserat  impotens 

Tellure, 
Victorum  nepotes 
Rettulit  inferias 

JUGURTH.E. 


VIII. 

Where  be  the  distant  land  but  drank 

Our  Latium's  noblest  blood  in  torrents? 
Sad  sepulchres,  where'er  it  sank. 

Bear  witness  to  each  foul  occurrence. 
Rude  barbarous  tribes  have  leam'd  to  scoff. 

Sure  to  exult  at  our  undoing  ; — 
Persia  hath  heard  with  joy,  far  off,_ 

The  sound  of  Rome's  gigantic  ruin  ! 


VIII. 

Quis  non  Latino 
Sanguine  pinguior 
Campus,^  sepulchris 
Impia  praelia 

Testatur, 
Auditumque  Medis 

Hesperiae 
Sonitum  ruinae? 


IX. 

Point  out  the  gulf  on  ocean's  verge — 

The  stream  remote,  along  whose  channels 
Hath  not  been  heard  the  mournful  dirge 

That  rose  throughout  our  murderous  annals — 
Show  me  the  sea — without  its  tide 

Of  blood  upon  the  surface  blushing — 
Show  me  the  shore— with  blood  undyed 

From  Roman  veins  profusely  gushing. 


IX. 

Qui  gurges,  aut  quae 
Flumina  lugubris 
Ignara  belli? 
Quod  mare  Daunise 
Non  decolor- 

avere  caedes  ? 
Quae  caret  ora 

Cruore  nostro  ? 

X. 

Sed  ne,  relictis, 
Musa  procax,  jocis, 
CE.t  retractes 
IMunera  neniae : 
Mecum  Dionoeo 

Sub  antro 
Quaere  modos 

Leviore  plectro. 


But,  ]\Iuse  !  a  truce  to  themes  like  these — 

Let  us  strike  up  some  jocund  carol  ; 
Nor  pipe  with  old  Simonides 

Dull,  solemn  strains,  morosely  moral  : 
Teach  me  a  new,  a  livelier  stave — 

And  that  we  may  the  better  chaunt  it. 
Hie  with  me  to  the  mystic  cave. 

Grotto  of  song  !  by  Bacchus  haunted. 

It  is  pleasant  to  find  Adam  Smith  "  On  the  Wealth  of  Nations  "  anticipated, 
in  the  following  exposi  of  sound  commercial  principles;  and  the  folly  of 
restricting  the  bank  issues  made  the  subject  of  an  ode.  It  is  addressed  to 
Sallust,  nephew  of  the  historian,  who  had  amassed  considerable  wealth  from 
the  plunder  of  Africa  during  his  praetorship  in  that  province  ;  and  had  laid  out 
the  proceeds,  after  ih^  most  hberal  fashion,  in  embellishing  his  most  magnifi- 
cent residence,  the  Hart  I  Sallusiia}ii,\\h\ch  to  this  day  forms  a  splendid  public 
promenade  for  your  modern  Romans.  The  liberality  of  Proculoeius  Mure?ta. 
who,  on  the  confiscation  of  his  brother's  property  during  the  civil  war.  had 


458 


TJie  Works  of  Father  Proui. 


made  good  the  loss  from  his  own  patrimony,  and  opened  an  asj'lum  to  the 
children  of  his  nephews,  was  apparently  the  current  subject  of  conversation  at 
the  time  ;  as  well  as  the  good  fortune  of  Phraates,  in  recovering  the  crown  of 
Persia,  whicli  had  been  jeopardized  by  some  revolutionary  proceedings.  At 
this  distance  of  years,  both  topics  appear  somewhat  stale ;  but  we  must  go  back 
in  spirit  to  the  days  in  which  such  matters  possessed  interest,  and,  having  thus 
made  ourselves  part  and  parcel  of  contemporary  Roman  society,  admire,  as 
well  as  we  can,  the  grace  and  freshness  of  the  allusions. 

LIB.  II.  ODE   11. —THOUGHTS   OX   BULLION  AND   THE 

CURRENCY. 

AD   CRISPUM  S.'^LLL'STIUM. 


My  Salllst,  say,  in  days  of  dearth. 
What  is  the  \a.z\  ingot  worth, 
Deep  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth 

Allow'd  to  settle, 
Unless  a  temperate  use  send  forth 

The  shinin?  metal  ? 


Nullus  argento 
Color  est  avaris 
Abdito  terris, 
Inimice  lamnae 
Crispe  Sallusti, 
Nisi  temperato 
Splendeat  usu. 


II. 

Blessings  on  him  whose  bounteous  hoard 
A  brother's  ruin'd  house  restored — 
Spreading  anew  the  orphan's  board 

With  care  paternal : 
MuREN.A.'s  fame  aloft  hath  soar'd 

On  wings  eternal ! 


II. 

Vivet  extento 
Proculeil's  aevo, 
Notus  in  fratres 
Animi  patemi. 
Ilium  aget  penna 
[Metuente  solvi 
Fama  superstes. 


III. 

Canst  thou  command  thy  lust  for  gold  ? 
Then  art  thou  richer,  friend,  fourfold. 
Than  if  thy  nod  the  maris  controU'd 

Where  chiefest  trade  is — 
The  C.-\RTHAGts  both  "  new  "  and  "old," 

The  Nile  and  Cadiz. 


III. 

Latius  regnes 
Avidum  domando 
Spiritum,  quam  si 
Libyam  remotis 
Gadibus  jungas, 
Et  uterque  Posnus 
Serviat  uni. 


IV. 

Mark  yon  hydropic  sufferer,  still 
Indulging  in  the  draughts  that  fill 
His  bloated  frame,— insatiate,  till 

Death  end  the  sickly  ; 
Unless  the  latent  fount  of  ill 

Be  dried  up  quickly. 


IV. 

Crescit  indulgens 
Sibi  dims  hydrops. 
Nee  sitim  pellit,_ 
Nisi  causa  morbi 
Fugerit  venis, 
Et  aquosus  albo 
Corpore  languor. 


Heed  not  the  vulgar  tale  that  says, 

— "He  counts  calm  hours  and  happy  days 

Who  from  the  throne  of  Cvkis  sways 

The  Peksian  sceptre  :" 
Wisdom  corrects  the  ill-used  phrase — 

And — stern  preceptor — 


Redditum  CvRi, 
Solio  Phraate.m, 
Dissidens  plebi 
Numero  beatorum, 
Eximit  Virtus 
Populumque  falsis, 
Dedocet  uti 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


459 


VI. 

Happy  alone  proclaimeth  them, 
\Vho  with  undazzled  eye  contemn 
The  pile  of  gold,  the  glittering  gem. 

The  bribe  unholy — 
Palm,  laurel-wreath,  and  diadem, 

Be  theirs — theirs  solely  ! 


VI. 

Vocibus,  regnum 
Et  diadema  tutum 
Deferens  uni, 
Propriamque  laurum 
Quisquis  ingentes 
Oculo  irretorto, 
Spectat  acervos. 


Sherlock's  famous  volume  on  death  has  been  equally  forestalled  by  our  Epicu- 
rean moralist ;  who,  whatever  he  may  want  in  consolatory  prospects  of  a  blessed 
futurity,  compensates  for  this  otherwise  very  material  omission  by  an  unrivalled 
sweetness  of  versification,  and  imagery  the  most  picturesque. 


LIB.  11.  ODE   III.— A   HOMILY   ON   DEATH. 

AD   Q.  DELLIUM. 


Thee,  whether  Pain  assail 

Or  Pleasure  pamper, 
Dellius — whiche'er  prevail — 
Keep  thou  thy  temper  ; 
Unwed  to  boisterous  joys,  that  ne'er 
Can  save  thee  from  the  sepulchre  ; 


iEquam  memento 
Rebus  in  arduis 

Servare  mentem, 
Non  secus  in  bonis 
Ab  insolent!  temperatam_ 
Lastitia,  moriture  Delli, 


II. 

Death  smites  the  slave  to  spleen. 

Whose  soul  repineth, 
And  him  who  on  the  green, 
Calm  sage,  reclineth, 
Keeping — from  grief's  intrusion  fai»— 
Blithe  holiday  with  festal  jar. 


II. 

Seu  moestus  omni 
Tempore  vixeris, 

Seu  te  in  remoto 
Gramine  per  dies 
Festos  reclinatum  bearis 
Interiore  nota  Falerni. 


III. 

^Vhere  giant  fir,  sunproof, 

With  poplar  blendeth. 
And  high  o'erhead  a  roof 
Of  boughs  extendeth  ; 
While  onward  runs  the  crooked  rill, 
Brisk  fugitive,  with  murmur  shrill. 


III. 

Qua  pinus  ingens 
Albaque  populus 

Umbram  hospitalem 
Consociare  amant 
Ramis,  et  obliquo  laborat 
Lympha  fugax  trepidare  rivo, 


IV. 

Bring  wine,  here,  on  the  grass  ! 

Bring  perfumes  hither  ! 
Bring  roses — which,  alas  ! 
Too  quickly  wither — 
Ere  of  our  days  the  spring-tide  ebb. 
While  the  dark  sisters  weave  our  web. 


IV. 

Hunc  vina,  et  unguenta, 
Et  nimium  breves 
Flores  amosnos 
Ferre  jube  rosae, 
Dum  res,  et  aetas,  et  sororum 
Fila  trium  patiuntur  atra. 


Soon— should  the  fatal  shear 

Cut  life's  frail  fibre — 
Broad  lands,  sweet  Villa  near 
The  yellow  Tiber, 
With  all  thy  chattels  rich  and  rare. 
Must  travel  to  a  thankless  heir. 


V. 

Cedes  coemptis 

Saltibus,  et  domo, 

Villaque,  flavus_ 

Quam  Tiberis  lavit : 

Cedes,  et  exstructis  in  altum 

Divitiis  potietur  heres. 


460 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


VI. 

Be  thou  the  nobly  bom, 

Spoil'd  child  of  Fortune — 

Be  thou  the  wretch  forlorn, 

WTiom  wants  importune — 

By  sufferance  thou  art  here  at  most, 

Till  Death  shall  claim  his  holocaust. 


VII. 

All  to  the  same  dark  bourne 

Plod  on  together — 
Lots  from  the  same  dread  urn 
Leap  forth — and,  whether 
Ours  be  the  first  or  last.  Hell's  wave 
Yawns  for  the  exiles  of  the  grave. 


VL 

Divesne,  prisco 
Natus  ab  Inacho, 
Nil  interest,  an 
Pauper  et  infima 
De  gente  sub  dio  moreris, 
Victima  nil  miserantis  OrcL 


vn. 

Omnes  eodem 
Cogimur :  omnium 

Versatur  uma 
Serius  ocius 
Sors  exitura,  et  nos  in  aetemum 
Exsilium  impositura  cymbae. 


I,  of  course,  cannot  countenance  the  tendency  of  the  succeeding  morceau. 
Its  apparent  purport  is  to  vindicate  what  the  Germans  call  "  left-handed  "  alli- 
ances between  the  sexes  ;  but  its  obvious  drift  is  not  such  as  so  generally  correct 
a  judge  of  social  order  and  propriety  would  be  supposed  to  mistake.  The 
responsibility,  however,  be  his  own. 


LIB.    11.    ODE  IV.— CLASSICAL  LOVE  MATCHES. 

"  IVJien  tJi£  heart  of  a  »zan  is  oppress  d  zuith  care, 
TJie  mist  is  dispell' d  if  a  luoinatt  appear  ; 
Like  tite  ttotes  of  a  fiddle,  s)ie  STveetly,  sweetly. 
Raises  his  spirits  aiid  cJiarins  his  ear. " 

Capt.^in  Macheath. 


I 

O  deem  not  thy  love  for  a  captive  maid 
Doth,  Phocels,  the  heart  of  a  Roman  degrade  ! 
Like  the  noble  Achilles,  'tis  simply,  simply, 
With  a  "  Eriseis  "  thou  sharest  thy  bed. 


I. 

Ne  sit  ancillze  tibi  amor  pudori, 
Xanthia  Phoceu.     Prius  insolentem 
Serva  Briseis  niveo  colore 
Movit  Achillem ; 


II. 

AjAX  of  Tel.\mon- did  the  same. 
Felt  in  his  bosom  a  Phrvgian  flame  ; 
Taught  to  contemn  none.  King  Agamemnon 
Fond  of  a  Troj.^n  slave  became. 


II. 

Movit  Ajacem  Telamone  natum 
Forma  captivas  dominum  Tecmessae  ; 
Arsit  Atritles  medio  in  triumpho 
V'irgine  rapta. 


III. 

Such  was  the  rule  with  the  Greeks  of  old. 
When  tkey  had  conquer'd  the  foe's  stronghold; 
When  gallant  Hector — Troy's  protector — 
Falling,  the  knell  of  Ilio.n  toU'd. 


IV. 

Why  deem  her  origin  vile  and  base  ? 
Canst  thou  her  pedigree  fairly  trace  ? 
Yellow-hair'd  Phyllis,  slave  tho'  she  be,  still  is 
The  last,  perhaps,  of  a  royal  race. 


III. 

Barbarae  postquam  cecidere  turmae, 
Thessalo  victore,  et  ademptus  Hector 
Tradidit  fessis  leviora  t«lli 
Pergama  Graiis. 


IV. 

Nescias  an  te  generum  beati 
Phyllidis  flava;  decorcnt  parentes 
Regium  certe  genus  et  penates 
Moeret  iniquos. 


TJie  So7tgs  of  Horace.  461 


V.  V. 

Birth  to  demeanour  will  sure  respond—  Crede  non  illam  tibi  de  scelestS 

Phyllis  is  faithful,  Phyllis  is  fond  :  Plebe  dilectam,  neque  sic  fidelem, 

Gold  cannot  buy  her— then  why  deny  her  Sic  lucro  aversam  potuisse  nasci 
A  rank  the  basely  born  beyond  ?  Matre  pudendii. 

VI.  VI. 

Phyllis  hath  limbs  divinely  wTOught,  Brachia  et  vultum  teretesque  suras 

Features  and  figure  without  a  fault...  Integer  laudo  :  fuge  suspicari. 

Do  not  feel  jealous,  friend,  when  a  fellow's  Cujus  octavum  trepidavit  setas 
Fortieth  year  forbids  the  thought !  Claudere  lustrum. 

In  contrasting  Virgil  with  Horace,  and  in  noticing  the  opposite  tendencies  of 
mind  and  disposition  discoverable  in  their  writings,  I  should  have  pointed  out 
the  very  glaring  difference  in  their  respective  views  of  female  character.  The 
mild  indulgence  of  the  Epicurean  is  obviously  distinguishable  from  the  severe 
moroseness  of  the  Platonist.  The  very  foibles  of  the  sex  find  an  apologist  in 
Horace  :  Virgil  appears  to  have  been  hardly  sensible  to  their  highest  excellen- 
cies. The  heroines  of  the  "^Eneid"  are  depictured  in  no  very  amiable  colours  : 
his  Dido  is  a  shrew  and  a  scold  ;  his  Trojan  women  fire  the  fleet,  and  run  wild 
like  witches  in  a  Sabbat ;  the  "  mourning  fields  "  are  crowded  with  ladies  of 
lost  reputation;  the  wife  of  King  Latmus  hangs  herself;  Camilla  dies  in 
attempting  to  grasp  a  gewgaw  ;  and  even  the  fair  Lavinia  is  so  described  as  to 
be  hardly  worth  fighting  for.  How  tolerant,  on  the  contrary,  is  our  songster — 
how  lenient  in  his  sketches  of  female  defects — how  impassioned  in  his  commen- 
dation of  female  charms  !  Playful  irony  he  may  occasionally  employ  in  his 
addresses  to  Roman  beauty ;  but,  in  his  very  invectives,  nothing  can  be  clearer 
than  his  intense  devotion  to  the  whole  sex... with  the  exception  of  "  Canidia." 
Who  she  was  I  may  take  an  early  opportvmity  of  explaining  :  it  is  a  very  long 
story,  and  will  make  a  paper. 

The  subject  of  the  following  ode  is  Campaspe,  the  mistress  of  Apelles. 
This  favourite  artist  of  Alexander  the  Great  would  appear  to  have  been,  hke 
Salvator  Rosa,  addicted  to  the  kindred  pursuits  of  a  poet.  Of  his  paintings 
nothing  has  come  down  to  us  ;  but  of  his  poetry  I  am  happy  to  supply  a  frag- 
ment from  the  collection  of  Athseneus.  The  Greek  is  clearly  the  original. 
George  Herrick  has  suppUed  the  English. 

LIB.  II.  ODE  v.— CUPID  A  GAMBLER. 

I.  III. 

Nostra  Camp.\spe  levis  et  Cupido  Turn  labellorum  roseos  honores 

Alea  nuper  statuere  ludos,  Mo.x  ebur  frontis — simul  banc  sub  imo 

Merx  ut  hinc  illinc  foret  osculorum  ;—  Quae  manu  matris  fuerat  cavata 
Solvit  at  ille.  Rimula  mento, 

II.  IV. 

Pignorat  sorti  pharetram,  sagittas.  Solvit... at  postquam  geminos  ocellos 

Par  columbarum,  Venerisque  bigas  Lusit  incassum,  manet  inde  cascus. — 

Passeres  ; — eheu  !  puer  aleator  Sic  eum  si  tu  spolias,  puella  ! 

Singula  solvit.  Quanta  ego  solvam  ? 

Cupid  and  m^r  Campaspe  played 
At  cards  for  kisses  ; — Cupid  paied — 
He  stakes  hys  quiver,  bowe  and  arrowes, 
Hys  mother's  doves  and  teame  of  sparrowes  : 
Looses  them  too — then  downe  he  throws 
The  coral  of  hys  lippe,  the  rose 


462 


The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 


U  ppon  hys  cheek  (but  none  knows  how) 
With  these  the  chrystal  of  hys  browe. 
And  then  the  dymple  on  hys  chinne — • 
All  these  did  my  Campaspe  winne. 
At  last  he  sette  her  both  hys  eyes ; 
She  wonn  :  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 
Oh,  Love  !  hath  she  done  this  to  thee? 
What  shall,  alas  !  become  of  me? 

George  Herrick. 

FRAGMENT  OF  THE  PAINTER  AND  POET,  APELLES. 


Ka/xTTaarira  cvyKutEVOU 
<I>iXf)/iaT'  i]u  6'  asdXa' 
Avcriv  t'  fpojs  o(p\7]fxa' 
To^oi/,  tsXr],  (paoETpyjv, 

Kat  /J.1]TSpO'S  TTEXsLa?, 

^Tpovdcov  C^uyov  TidrjKiV 
AttcoXscteu  t'  airavra' 
XtiXous  TL^^<i  ioEvdos, 
Poooy  T£  TU)U  Trapsiwi/ 
(IIws  ovu  fxiu  ouTts  oiosv), 


KpvaTaWou  j)o'  £0rj/fe 
Toy  ayXaov  /xtTtoTrov, 
^(f>payLGfj.a  kul  yEVSLOV 
KafiTracnr'  uiravT^  avtiXzv, 
TeXos  0£  OfifxaT'  afxcpta 
E0);/c*  etev^ut'  avTi}' 
'I'ucpXo^  t'  airwy^zT'  w  '/O02 
Et  TavTa  (TOL  /xiyLcrTz 

Kg/c'   ?j6'    E/OOJS   TTOL^CTt  ', 
^SV   !    aQXlOiTUTUi   Tl 

MfWet  Ep.01  yividQak  ', 


Tivoli  and  Tarentum  were  the  two  favourite  retreats  of  Horace,  whenever 
he  could  tear  himself  from  the  metropolis.  The  charms  of  both  are  celebrated 
in  the  succeeding  composition.  It  would  appear  to  have  been  elicited  at  a 
banquet,  on  Septimius  expressing  himself  so  devotedly  attached  to  our  poet, 
that  he  would  cheerfully  accompany  him  to  the  utmost  boundary  of  the  Roman 
empire. 


LIB.    II. 


ODE   VI.— THE    ATTRACTIONS 
TARENTUM. 


OE   TIBUR    AND 


I. 


Septimius,  pledged  ^vith  me  to  roam 
Far  as  the  fierce  Irerian's  home. 
Where  men  abide  not  yet  o'ercome 

By  Roman  legions, 
And  I\Iaurit.a.nian  billows  foam — 

Barbaric  rearions  ! 


II. 

TiBUR  ! — sweet  colony  of  Greece  ! — 
There  let  my  devious  wanderings  cease  ; — 
There  would  I  wait  old  age  in  peace, 

There  calmly  dwelling, 
A  truce  to  war  ! — a  long  release 

From  "  colonelling  !  " 


III. 
Whence  to  go  forth  should  Fate  ordain, 
Galesus,  gentle  flood  !  thy  plain 
.Speckled  with  sheep — might  yet  remain 

For  Heaven  to  grant  us  ; 
Land  that  once  knew  the  halcyon  reign 

Of  King  Phalantus. 


Septimi,  Gades 
Aditure  mecum,  et 
Cantabrum  indoctum 
Juga  ferre  nostra,  et 
Barbaras  Syrtes, 
Ubi  Maura  semper 
.^stuat  unda  : 

II. 

TiBUR,  Argeo 
Positum  colono. 
Sit  mes  sedes 
Utinam  senectae  ! 
Sit  modus  lasso 
Maris,  et  viarum, 
Militiaeque  ! 

III. 

Unde  si  Parcae 
Prohibent  iniquae, 
Dulce  pellitis 
Ovibus  Galesi 
Flumen,  et  regnata 
Petani  Laconi 
Rura  Phalanto. 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


463 


IV. 

Spot  of  all  earth  most  dear  to  me  ! 
Teeming  with  sweets  I  the  Attic  bee, 
O'er  Mount  Hymettus  ranging  free, 

Finds  not  such  honey — 
Xcr  basks  the  Capuan  olive-tree 

In  soil  more  sunny. 


There  lingering  Spring  is  longest  foimd  ; 
E  en  Winter's  breath  is  mild  : — and  round 
Delicious  Aulon  grapes  abound, 

In  mellow  cluster : 
Such  as  Falernum's  richest  ground 

Can  rarely  muster. 


VI. 

Romantic  towers  !  thrice  happy  scene  ! 
There  might  our  days  glide  on  serene  ; 
Till  thou  bedew  \viA  tears,  I  ween, 

or  love  sincerest. 
The  dust  of  him  who  once  had  been 

Thy  friend,  the  Lyrist  ! 


IV. 

I  lie  terrarum 
!Mihi  praster  omnes 
Angulus  ridet, 
Ubi  non  Hymetto 
INIella  decedunt, 
Viridique  certat 
Bacca  Venafro ; 


Ver  ubi  longum, 
Tepidasque  praebet 
Jupiter  brumas, 
Et  amicus  Aulon 
Fertili  Baccho 
Llinimum  Falernis 
Invidet  uvis. 


VI. 

Ille  te  mecum 
Locus  et  beatas 
Postulant  arces ; 
Ibi  tu  calentem 
Debita  sparges 
Lacrima  favillam 
Vatis  amici. 


Extemporaneous  in  its  essence,  hearty,  glowing,  and  glonous,  here  follows 
an  effusion  of  affectionate  welcome  to  one  of  the  young  Pompeys,  with  whom 
he  had  studied  at  Athens  and  fought  at  Philippi.  The  scene  is  at  the  babme 
farm.  The  exile,  it  wiU  be  seen,  has  only  just  returned  on  the  general  amnesty 
granted  by  Augustus. 


LIB.  11.  ODE  VII.— A  FELLOW-SOLDIER  WELCOMED  FROM 

EXILE. 
L  I- 


Friend  of  my  soul  !  with  whom  array'd 

I  stood  in  the  ranks  of  peril. 
When  Brutcs  at  Philippi  made 

That  effort  \vild  and  sterile.... 
Who  hath  reopen'd  Rome  to  thee. 

Her  temples  and  her  forum ; 
Beckoning  the  child  of  Italy  _ 

Back  to  the  clime  that  bore  him  ? 


II. 

Thou,  O  my  earliest  comrade  !  say, 

Po.MPEY,  was  I  thy  teacher. 
To  baulk  old  Time,  and  drown  the  day 

Deep  in  a  flowing  pitcher  ? 
Think  of  the  hours'we  thus  consumed. 

While  Syria's  richest  odours, 
Lavish  of  fragrancy,  perfumed 

The  locks  of  two  marauders. 


O  ssepe.  mecum 
Tempus  in  ultimum 
Deducte,  Bruto 
MiUtia;  duce, 
Quis  te  redonavit 

QUIRITEM 

Dis  patriis, 

iTALoque  coelo, 


II. 

PoMPEi,  meorum 
Prime  sodalium. 
Cum  quo  morantem 
Ssepe  diem  mere 
Fregi,  coronatus 

Nitentes 
Malobathro 

Syrio  capillos? 


464 


The  Works  of  Father  Pj'oict. 


III. 

With  thee  I  shared  Philijipis  rout. 

Though  I,  methinks,  ran  faster  ; 
Leaving  behind — 'twas  wrong,  ne  doubt — 

My  SHIELD  in  the  disaster  : 
E'en  FoKTiTiDE  that  day  broke  down  ; 

And  the  rude  foeman  taught  her 
To  hide  her  brow's  diminish'd  frown 

Low  amid  heaps  of  slaughter. 


in. 

Tecum  Philippos 
Et  celerem  fugam 
Sensi,  reHcta 
Non  bene  parmula, 
Quum  fracta  virtus, 

Et  minaces 
Turpe  sohim 

Tetigere  mento. 


IV. 

But  Mercury,  who  kindly  watch'd 

Me  mid  that  struggle  deadly, 
Stoop'd  from  a  cloud,  and  quickly  snatch'd 

His  client  from  the  medley. 
While  thee,  alas  I  the  ebbing  flood 

Of  war  relentless  swallow'd, 
Replunging  thee  mid  seas  of  blood  ; 

And  years  of  tempest  follow'd. 


IV. 

Sed  me  per  hostes 
Mercurius  celer 
Denso  paventem 
Sustulit  acre  : 
Te  rursus  in  bellum 

Resorbens 
Unda  fretis 

Tulit  aestuosis. 


V. 

Then  slay  to  Jove  the  victim  calf. 

Due  to  the  God  ;— and  weary, 
Lender  my  bower  of  laurels  quaff 

A  wine-cup  blithe  and  merry. 
Here,  while  thy  war-worn  limbs  repose. 

Mid  peaceful  scenes  sojourning, 
Spare  not  the  wine — 'twas  kept — it  flows 

To  welcome  thy  returning. 


Erg©  obligatam 
Redde  Jovi  dapem, 
Longaque  fessum 
Militia  latus 
Depone  sub 

Lauru  mea,  nee 
Parce  cadis 

Tibi  destinatis. 


VI. 

Come  !  with  oblivious  bowls  dispel 

Grief,  care,  and  disappointment  ! 
Freely  from  yon  capacious  shell 

Shed,  shed  the  balmy  ointment  ! 
WTio  for  the  genial  banquet  weaves 

Gay  garlands,  gather'd  newly  ; 
Fresh  with  the  garden's  greenest  leaves. 

Or  twined  with  myrtle  duly? 


VI. 

Oblivioso 
Levia  ^lassico 
Ciboria  exple  ; 
Funde  capacibus 
Unguenta  de  conchis. 

Quis  udo 
Deproperare 

Apio  coronas 


VIL 

Whom  shall  the  dice's  cast  "  wine-king  " 

Elect,  by  Venl's  guided? 
Quick,  let  my  roof  with  wild  mirth  ring — 

Blame  not  my  joy,  nor  chide  it ! 
Madly  each  bacchanalian  feat 

I  mean  to-day  to  rival. 
For,  oh  !  'tis  sweet  thus — thus  to  greet 

So  DEAR  A  friend's  ARRIVAL  ! 


VII. 

Curatve  mjTto  ? 
Quem  Venus  arbitrum 
Dicet  bibendi? 
Non  ego  sanius 
Bacchabor  Edonis  : 

Recepto 
Dulce  mihi  furere 

Est  amico  ! 


The  nursery  tradition  respectinp:  lies,  and  their  consequence,  mav  be  traced 
in  the  opening  stanza  of  this  playful  remonstrance  with  Barine.  The  image  of 
Cupid  at  a  grinding-stone,  sharpening  his  darts,  is  the  subject  of  a  fine  antique 
cameo  in  the  Orleans  Collection. 


The  Songs  of  Horace. 


465 


LIB.  II.  ODE   VIII.— THE   ROGUERIES  OF  BARINE. 

IN  BARINEN. 


I. 

Barinfe  !  if,  for  each  untruth, 
Some  blemish  left  a  mark,  uncouth, 
With  loss  of  beauty  and  of  youth, 

Ur  Heaven  should  alter 
The  whiteness  of  a  single  tooth — 

O  fair  defaulter  ! 


Ulla  si  juris 
Tibi  pejerati 
Poena,  Barine, 
iS'ocuisset  unquam  ; 
Dente  si  nigro 
Fieres  vel  uno 
Turpior  ungui. 


II. 

Then  might  I  trust  thy  words — but  thou 
Dost  triumph  o'er  each  broken  vow  ; 
Falsehood  would  seem  to  give  thy  brow 

Increased  effulgence  : 
Men  still  admire — and  Gods  allow 

Thee  fresh  indulgence. 


II. 

Crederem.     Sed  tu, 
Simul  obligasti 
Perfidum  votis 
Caput,  enitescis 
Pulchior  multo, 
Juvenumque  prodis 
Publica  cura. 


III. 

Swear  by  thj'  mother's  funeral  urn — ■ 
Swear  by  the  stars  that  nightly  bum 
(Seeming  in  silent  awe  to  mourn 

O'er  such  deception) — 
Swear  by  each  Deity  in  turn. 

From  Jove  to  Neptune  : 


III. 

Expedit  matris 
Cineres  opertos 
Fallere,  et  toto 
Tacituma  noctis 
Signa  cum  coelo, 
Gelidaque  Divos 
Morte  carentes. 


IV. 

Venus  and  all  her  Nymphs  would  yet 
With  smiles  thy  perjury'  abet — 
Cupid  would  laugh — Go  on  !  and  let 

Fresh  courage  ner\'e  thee  ; 
Still  on  his  blood-stain'd  wheel  he'll  whet 

His  darts  to  serve  thee  ! 


IV. 

Ridet  hoc,  inquam, 
Venus  ipsa,  rident 
Simplices  Nymphae, 
Ferus  et  Cupido, 
Semper  ardentes 
Acuens  sagittas 
Cote  cruenta. 


Fast  as  they  grow,  our  youths  enchain, 

Fresh  followers  in  beauty's  train  : 

While  those  who  loved  thee  first  would  fain. 

Charming  deceiver, 
Within  thy  threshold  still  remain. 

And  love,  for  ever  ! 


Adde  quod  pubes 
Tibi  crescit  omnis  ; 
Servitus  crescit  nova ; 
Nee  priores 
Impiae  tectum 
Dominae  relinquunt, 
Saepe  minati. 


VI. 

Their  sons  from  thee  all  mothers  hide  ; 
All  thought  of  thee  stem  fathers  chide  ; 
Thy  shadow  haunts  the  new-made  bride, 

And  fears  dishearten  her, 
Lest  thou  inveigle  from  her  side 

Her  life's  young  partner. 


VI. 

Te  suis  matrei 
Metuunt  juvepcis, 
Te  senes  parci, 
^liseraeque  nuper 
Virgines  nuptae, 
Tua  ne  retardet 
Aura  maritos. 


MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


I. 

^In  d- pip b aim. 

{Fraser's  AIagazi?te,  Januayy,  1835.) 


[The  following  appeared  as  "  A  Fragment  from  the  Prout  Papers  "  in  the  same  number 
of  Regina  in  which  was  published  the  fourth  instalment  of  The  Songs  of  France.] 

"Glandifera  Druidis  corona." 

Sir  W.m.  Jones. 

The  following  lines  would  appear  to  form  the  preamble  or  introductory 
stanzas  to  a  poem  of  some  length,  of  which  we  have  already  met  with  some 
detached  portions  among  the  papers  of  the  late  incumbent  of  Watergrasshill, 
and  which,  in  style  and  verse,  bear  some  resemblance  to  Coleridge's  wild  and 
rambling  ballad  of  "  The  Ancient  Mariner."  It  relates  the  adventures  of  three 
' '  elders  from  the  Far  West,  who  in  the  reign  of  Augustus  travel  eastward  in  search 
of  the  promised  Saviour  of  mankind,  visit  Rome,  Athens,  and  Egypt  in  suc- 
cession and  finally  return.  Where  Prout  found  authority  for  this  Druidical 
ava/3acris  he  does  not  mention :  we  have,  nevertheless,  some  idea  of  a 
manuscript  preserved  at  St.  Gall,  in  Switzerland,  and  entitled  Trimii  Druidum 
ab  insalis  Oceani  peregrinaio  Dethlcm  utique."  T"he  Abbey  of  St.  Gall  is 
known  to  have  colonized  from  Ireland.  Should  we  be  enabled  to  give  the  poem 
in  a  complete  form  we  doubt  not  of  its  meeting  a  favourable  reception. — O.  Y. 

I. 

From  the  Isles  of  the  East — from  Arabia  the  blest, 

From  the  star-loving  land  of  Chaldee, 
There  came  to  his  cradle,  in  long  flowing  vest, 
Of  the  orient  Gentiles  the  wisest  and  best, 

And  crowns  deck'd  the  brows  of  the  three. 

II. 

They  brought  odoriferous  spices  and  myrrh. 

The  growth  of  their  own  sunny  soil : 
Though  a  smile  from  her  Infant,  a  blessing  from  Her 
Was  all  that  young  mother  and  maid  could  confer 

To  requite  them  for  travel  and  toil. 


The  Epiphany,  457 


III. 

Yet  well  might  they  deem  a  long  journey  repaid 

By  the  sight  of  that  wondrous  child  : 
Of  that  scion  of  awful  Omnipotence  laid 
In  the  innocent  arms  of  an  Israelite  maid, 
In  the  folds  of  a  breast  undefiled. 


IV, 


And  thus  by  the  East,  as  the  prophets  foretold, 

At  His  cradle  due  homage  was  done 
By  its  envoys,  who  worshipp'd  with  gifts  and  with  gold. 
Unloaded  their  camels,  their  treasures  unroU'd, 

And  pledged  Him  the  land  of  the  Sun. 


From  the  Isles  of  the  West— from  the  clime  of  the  Celt, 
From  the  home  of  the  Briton,  where  long 

To  the  God  of  our  fathers  the  Druid  had  knelt, 

Encircled  with  Stonehenge's  mystical  belt. 
Or  the' oaks  of  the  forest  among. 

VI. 

From  the  land  above  all  that  illumined  had  been 

With  the  Deity's  earliest  smiles, 
Of  sacred  tradition  asylum  serene, 
Blest  Erin  !  from  thee,  ever  fair,  ever  green. 

Ever  rank'd  amid  holiest  isles. 

VII. 

Were  sages  not  summon'd  ?    Had  no  one  the  lot 

To  hail  the  Messiah's  bright  mom? 
Went  forward  no  pilgrim  to  Bethlehem's  grot? 
O  think  not  the  Wise  of  the  West  were  forgot 

When  the  Infant  Redeemer  was  bom  ! 

VIII. 

Though  naught  is  recorded  of  king,  or  of  sage. 

Yet  a  vision  have  I  of  my  own  : — 
"Tis  but  fancy,  perhaps — but  the  dream  of  old  age. 
Yet  I'll  trace  it — 'twill  live  upon  poetry's  page 

When  the  priest  of  th2  upland  is  gone. 


468  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


11. 

Z\t  %^i\\t  jof  Saint  x^amiarhts- 

{Bentleys  Miscellany,  January,  1837.) 
— 0 — 

[With  these  two  stanzas  Mahony  led  off  the  first  page  of  the  first  number  c^  Bentleys 
Miscellany,  under  the  heading  of  "  Our  Song  of  the  Month."  And,  in  giving  them,  I 
would  here  at  once  offer  my  cordial  acknowledgments  to  Mr.  Bentleyfor  the  friendly 
readiness  with  which  he  has  permitted  me  to  reprint  anything  of  Prout's  I  pleased  from 
the  earlier  volumes  of  the  Miscellany.  One  alone  of  those  effusions  I  have  as  carefully, 
however,  abstained  from  reproducing  as  I  would  shrink  from  allowing  one  of  the  effigies 
from  the  Chamber  of  Horrors  at  Madame  Tussaud's  to  take  its  place  in  a  gallery  of 
genuine  works  of  art.  I  allude  to  a  certain  revolting  gibe  entitled  "The  Cruel  Murder," 
hurled,  apparently  in  a  moment  of  aberration,  by  Prout,  like  some  chance  missile  picked 
up  in  the  kennel,  at  the  comely  head  of  one  of  his  contemporaries  who,  until  then,  had 
as  freely  and  as  frankly  as  any  true  gentleman  could,  interchanged  with  him  the  grip  of 
the  right  hand  of  friendship.  As  already  remarked,  however,  in  the  Biographical 
Introduction,  those  were  times  among  literary  belligerents  for  the  flinging  of  vitriol 
and  the  wielding  of  bludgeons.] 

In  the  land  of  the  citron  and  mjTtle,  we're  told, 

That  the  blood  of  a  martyr  is  kept  in  a  phial, 
Which,  though  all  the  year  round  it  lie  torpid  and  cold, 

Yet  grasp  but  the  cr)'stal,  'twill  7i'arm  the  first  trial. 
Be  it  fiction  or  truth,  with  your  favourite  Fact, 

O  profound  Lazzaroni  !  I  seek  not  to  quarrel ; 
But  indulge  an  old  priest  who  would  simply  extract 

From  your  legend  a  lay,  from  your  martyr  a  moral. 

Lo  !  with  ioicled  beard  Januarius  comes  ! 

And  the  blood  in  his  veins  is  all  frozen  and  gelid, 
And  he  beareth  a  bottle  ;   but  torpor  benumbs 

Every  limb  of  the  saint  : — would  you  wish  to  dispel  it? 
With  the  hand  of  good-fellowship  grasp  the  hoar  sage — 

Soon  his  joints  will  relax  and  his  pulse  will  beat  quicker; 
Grasp  the  bottle  he  brings — 'twill  grow  warm,  111  engage. 

Till  the  frost  of  each  heart  lies  dissolved  in  the  liquor  ! 

P.  Prout. 

Probatutn  est. 
Watergrasshill,  Kal.  Januarii. 


III. 

{Bentley  s  Miscellany,  January,  1837.) 


[In  a  characteristic  editorial  foot-note,  by  Boz,  to  Front's  delightful  Latin  version  of 
"Judy  Callaghan,"  as  originally  published  in  the  Miscellany,  the  young  editor 
remarked— "Our  Watergrasshill  correspondent  will  find  scattered  throughout  our  pages 
the  other  fragments  of  the  defunct  Padre  which  he  has  placed  at  our  disposal.  Even,- 
chip  from  so  brilliant  an  old  block  may  be  said  to  possess  a  lustre  peculiarly  its  own': 
hence  we  may  not  fear  to  disperse  them  up  and  down  our  Miscellany.  They  are  gems  of 
the  purest  whisky."  And  in  this  way  the  opening  leaves  of  the  new  periodical 
refreshingly  sparkled  with  mountani  dew.] 


TEDDY  O'DRYSCULL,  SCHOOLMASTER  AT  WATERGRASSHILL, 

TO 

Mr.  BEXTLEY.  PUBLISHER. 
Sir, 

I  write  to  you  concerning  the  late  P.  P.  of  this  parish — his  soul  to  glor)' ! 
for,  as  Virgil  says, — and  devil  doubt  it, — 

"  Candidas  ijisiietum  miraiur  Ihnen  Olympi, 
S7tb pedibiisqjie  videt  nubes  et  sidera  pastor." 

His  Reliques,  sir,  in  two  volume-s,  have  been  sent  down  here  from  Dublin  for 
the  use  of  my  boys,  by  order  of  the  National  Education  Board,  with  directions 
to  cram  the  spalpeens  all  at  once  with  such  a  power  of  knowledge  that  they 
may  forget  the  hunger  :  which  plan,  between  you  and  me  (though  I  say  it  that 
oughtn't),  is  all  bladderum-skate :  for,  as  Juvenal  xa?\n\.?Cvas—jejunusstomachus, 
S:c.,  &c. — an  empty  bag  won't  stand.  You  must  first  fill  it  with  praties.  Give 
us  a  poor-law,  sir,  and,  trust  me,  you  will  have  no  more  about  Rock  and  repeal ; 
no,  nor  of  the  ri'nt,  against  which  latter  humbug  the  man  of  God  set  his  face 
outright  during  his  honest  and  honourable  lifetime  ;  for,  sir,  though  he  differed 
with- Mr.  Moore  about  Irish  round  towers,  and  a  few  French  roundelays,  in  t/i/s 
they  fully  agreed. 

As  I  understand,  sir,  that  you  are  a  publisher  in  ordinary  to  His  Majesty, 
I   intend,  from  time  to  tirne,   conveying  through  you  to  the  ear  of  royalty 


470 


The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


some  desiderattz  curiosa  Hyhernica  from  the  pen  of  the  deceased;  matters 
which  remain  ^f«<?j  me,  in  seriniis,  to  use  the  style  of  your  great  namesake. 
For  the  present  I  merely  send  you  a  few  classic  scraps  collected  by  Dr.  Prout 
in  some  convent  abroad  ;  and,  wishing  every  success  to  your  Miscellany,  am 
your  humble  servant, 

T.  O'D. 


SCRAP  No.  I. 


Watergrasshill. 


I. 

Erat  turbida  nox 

Hora  secunda  mane  ; 
Quando  proruit  vox 

Carmen  in  hoc  inane  ; 
Viri  misera  mens 

Meditabatur  h^-men, 
Hinc  puellae  flens 

Stabat  obsidens  limen  ; 

Seniel  tatituin  die 
Eris  nostra  Lalage  ; 

Ne  recuses  sic, 
Dulcis  Julia  Callage. 


11. 

Planctibus  aurem  fer, 
Venere  tu  formosior ; 

Die,  hos  muros  per, 
Tuo  favore  potior  ! 

Voce  beatum  fac ; 

En,  dum  dormis,  vigilo, 


I. 

'Twas  on  a  windy  night, 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
An  Irish  lad  so  tight. 

All  wind  and  weather  scorning, 
At  Judy  Callaghan's  door, 

Sitting  upon  the  palings, 
His  love-tale  he  did  pour, 

And  this  was  part  of  his  wailings 

Ofiiy  say 
You  II  be  Mrs.  Brallaghaii  ; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Cliarjuing  Judy  Callaghan. 


II. 

Oh  !  list  to  what  I  say. 

Charms  you've  got  like  Venus  ;  • 
Own  your  love  you  may. 

There's  but  the  wall  between  us. 
You  lie  fast  asleep, 

Snug  in  bed  and  snoring, 


There  flourishes,  I  he?.r,  in  London  a  Mr.  Hudson,  whose  reputation  as  a 
comic  lyrist,  it  would  seem,  has  firmly  taken  root  in  the  great  metropolis. 
Many  are  the  laughter-compelling  productions  of  his  merry  genius;  but  "  Bar- 
ney Brallaghan's  Courtship  "  may  be  termed  his  cpiis  magnum.  It  has  been 
my  lot  to  pick  a  few  dry  leaves  from  the  laurel  wreath  of  Mr.  Moore,  who  could 
well  afford  the  loss  :  t  know  not  whether  I  can  meddle  rightly  after  a  similar 
fashion  with  Hudson's  bay.  Yet  is  there  a  strange  coincidence  of  thought  and 
expression,  and  even  metre,  between  the  following  remnant  of  antiquity  and 
his  never-sufficiently-to-be-encored  song. 

The  original  may  be  seen  at  Bobbio  in  the  Apennines,  a  Benedictine  settle- 
ment, well  known  as  the  earliest  asylum  opened  to  learning  after  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire.  The  Irish  monk  Columbanus  had  the  merit  of  founding  it, 
and  it  long  remained  tenanted  by  natives  of  Ireland.  Among  them  it  has  been 
ascertained  that  Dante  lived  for  some  time  and  composed  Latin  verses  ;  but  I 
cannot  recognize  any  trace  of  his  stern  phraseology  in  the  ballad.  It  appears, 
rather,  the  production  of  som.e  rustic  of  the  Augustan  age — perhaps  one  of 
Horace's  ploughmen.  It  is  addressed  to  a  certain  Juha  Callapyge  [KaWnrvyri) 
a  name  which  (for  shortness,  I  suppose)  the  rural  poet  contracts  into  Julia 
"  Callage."  I  have  diligently  compared  it  with  the  Vulgate  version,  as  sung 
by  Fitzwilliam  at  the  "  Freemasons'  Tavern;  "  and  little  doubt  can  remain  of 
its  identity  and  authenticity. 

P.  P. 

THE    SABINE    FARMER'S    SERENADE. 

Being  a  Jiewly  recovered  Fragment  of  a  Latin  Opera. 


TJie  Sabine  Farmer  s  Serenade. 


471 


Nocte  obambulans  hac 
Domum  planctu  stridulo. 
Seine  I  taiiUan  die 

Eris  jiostra  Lalage  ; 
Ne  rec7ises  sic, 

Dulcis  Julia  Callage. 

III. 

Est  mihi  praegnans  sus, 

Et  porcellis  stabulum ; 
Villula,  grex,  et  rus* 

Ad  vaccarum  pabulum ; 
Feriis  cerneres  me 

Splendido  vestimento, 
Tunc,  heus  !  qu^m  benfe  te 

Veherem  in  jumento  !  + 

Seviel  tantjun  die 
Eris  nostra  Lalage  ! 

Ne  recuses  sic, 
Dulcis  Julia  Callage. 

IV. 

Vis  poma  terrse  ?  sum 

Uno  dives  jugere  ; 
Vis  lac  et  mella,  %  cum 

Bacchi  succo,§  sugere? 
Vis  aquse-vitae  vim?  IT 

Plumoso  somnum  saccule  ?** 
Vis  ut  paratus  sim 

Vel  annulo  vel  baculo  ?  tt 

Seme  I  tan  turn  die 
Eris  fiostra  Lalage  ; 

Ne  recuses  sic, 
Dulcis  Julia  Callage. 


Round  the  house  I  creep, 
Your  hard  heart  imploring. 
Only  say 

You' II  have  Mr.  BrallagJian  ; 
Don't  say  nay, 

Charining  Judy  Callaghan. 

III. 

I've  got  a  pig  and  a  sow, 

I've  got  a  sty  to  sleep  'em ; 
A  calf  and  a  brindled  cow, 

And  a  cabin  too,  to  keep  'em  ; 
Sunday  hat  and  coat, 

An  old  grey  mare  to  ride  on  ; 
Saddle  and  bridle  to  boot, 

V.'^hich  you  may  ride  astride  on. 

Only  say 
You'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan  ; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charining  Judy  Callaghaii. 

IV. 

I've  got  an  acre  of  ground, 

I've  got  it  set  with  praties  ; 
I've  got  of  'baccy  a  pound, 

I've  got  some  tea  for  the  ladies ; 
I've  got  the  ring  to  wed. 

Some  whisky  to  make  us  gaily  ; 
I've  got  a  feather  bed. 

And  a  handsome  new  shilelagh. 

Ottly  say 
You'll  Jiave  Mr.  BrallagJian  ; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charini7ig  Judy  Callaghajt. 


*  1°  in  voce  rtis.  Nonne  potius  legendum  Jus,  scilicet,  ad  vaccariim  pahtlwn  "{  De 
hoc  jure  apud  Sabinos  agricolas  consule  Scriptores  de  re  rusticd  passim.  Ita  Betit- 
leius. 

Jus  imo  antiquissimum,  at  displicet  vox  aequivoca ;  jus  etenim  a  mess  0/ potage  ali- 
quando  audit,  ex.  gr. 

Omne  suum  fratri  Jacob  y?^J  vendidit  Esau, 
Et  Jacob  fratri y^^.?  dedlt  omne  suum. 

Itaque,  pace  Bentleii,  stet  lectio  T^r\ox.—Prout. 

t  Veherem  in  jutnenio.  Curricolo-ne  ?  an  pone  sedentem  in  equi  dorso?  dorsaliter 
plane.  Quid  enim  dicit  Horatius  de  uxore  sic  vecta?  Nonne  "Post  equitem  sedet  atra 
cura  ? " — Porson.  .     ^        . 

X  Lac  et  jnella.     Metaphorice  pro  tea :  muliebris  est  compotatio  Grsecis  non  ignota,. 

teste  Anacreonte, — 

©EON,  Beav  BeaLirqi', 
©eXo)  Xe-yetv  eraipat,  k.  t.  \. 
Brougham. 

§  Bacchi  succo.  Duplex  apud  poetas  antiquiores  habebatur  hujusce  nominis  numen. 
Vineam  regebat  prius  ;  posterius  cuidam  herbae  exoticae  praeerat  qua  tobacco  audit,  buc- 
cus  utrique  optimus. — Coleridge.  ,      ,  .  ,     „  -,• 

51  AqucB-vitcB  vim,  Anglo-Hybemice,  "  a  power  0/ whisky,     icrxv?,  scilicet,  vox  per- 

graeca. — Parr.  .     •       j  •  ►     •>,• 

**  Plumoso  sacco.  Plumarum  congeries  cert^  ad  somnos  invitandos  satis  apta  ;  at  mini 

per  multos  annos  laneus  iste  saccus,  Ang.  woolsack,  fuit  apprim^  ad  dormiendum  idoneus. 

Lites  etiam  de  land  ut  ai^mt  caprind,  soporiferas  per  annos  -xxx.  exercui.     Quot  et  quani 

praeclara  somnia ! — Eldo?i.  ,,. ,    t^    >  r  j    r-  a 

■ft  Investitura  ''per  annulinn  et  baculu}n,"  satis  nota.     Vide  P.   Marca  de  Concord. 

Sacerdotii  et  Imperii :  et  Hildebrandi  Pont.  Max.  huWdxiMm.—Proui. 
Baculo  certe  dignissim.  pontif. — Maginn. 


472 


The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 


Litteris  operam  das  ; 

Lucido  fulges  oculo ; 
Dotes  insuper  quas 

Nummi  sunt  in  loculo. 
Novi  quod  apta  sis* 

Ad  procreandam  sobolem  ! 
Possides  (nesciat  quis  ?) 

Linguam  satis  mobilem.t 

Se7nel  taiitum  die 
Eris  fiostra  Lalage  ; 

AV  recuses  sic, 
Dulcis  Julia  Callage. 

VI. 

Conjux  utinam  tu 

Fieres,  lepidum  cor,  mi  '. 
Halitum  perdimus,  heu, 

Te  sopor  urget.     Dormi  ! 
Ingruit  imber  trux — 

Jam  sub  tecto  pellitur 
Is  quem  crastina  luxt 

Referet  hue  fideliter. 

Setnel  tatitum  die 
Eris  nostra  Lalage  ; 

Ne  recuses  sic, 
Dulcis  Julia  Callage. 


You've  got  a  charming  eye. 

You've  got  some  spelling  and  reading  ; 
You've  got,  and  so  have  I, 

A  taste  for  genteel  breeding  ; 
You're  rich,  and  fair,  and  young, 

As  everybody's  knowing ; 
You've  got  a  decent  tongue 

Whene'er  'tis  set  a  going. 

Only  say 
You'll  have  Mr.  Brallaghan  ; 

Don't  say  nay. 
Char77iing  Judy  Callaghan. 

VI. 

For  a  wife  till  death 

I  am  willing  to  take  ye  ! 
But,  och  !  I  waste  my  breath, 

The  devil  himself  can't  wake  ye. 
Tis  just  beginning  to  rain, 

So  I'll  get  under  cover  ; 
To-morrow  I'll  come  again. 

And  be  your  constant  lover. 

Only  say 
You'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan  ; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charfning-  Judy  Callaghan. 


*  A/>ia  sis.  Quomodo  noverit?  Vide  Proverb.  Solomonis,  cap.  xxx.  v.  19.  Nisi  forsan 
tales  fuerint  puellse  Sabinorum  quales  impudens  iste  balatro  Connelius  mentitur  esse 
nostrates. — Bloinfield. 

+  Linguam  inobilem.  Prius  enumerat  futurae  conjugis  bona  itnfnobilia,  postea  transit 
ad  mobilia,  Anglice,  chattel  property.      Praeclarus  orde  sententiarum  ! — Car.  Wetherall. 

X  Allusio  ad  distichon  Maronianum, 
"Nocte  pluit  tota  redeunt  spectactda  mane." — Prout. 

K.   T.   X. 


IV. 

(Bentley's  Miscellany,  January ^  1837. ) 


SCRAP   No.    II. 


Watergrasshill. 


The  "  Poems  of  Ossian,"  a  Celtic  bard,  and  the  "Rhymes  of  Rowley,"  a 
Bristol  priest,  burst  on  the  pubhc  at  one  and  the  same  period ;  when  the  atten- 
tion of  literary  men  was  for  a  time  totally  absorbed  in  discussing  the  respective 
discoveries  of  Macpherson  and  Chatterton.  "  The  fashion  of  this  world  pass- 
eth  away  ;"  and  what  once  engaged  so  much  notice  is  now  sadly  neglected. 
Indeed,  had  not  Bonaparte  taken  a  fancy  to  the  ravings  of  the  mad  High- 
lander, and  had  not  Chatterton  swallowed  oxaUc  acid,  probably  far  more  brief 
had  been  the  space  both  would  have  occupied  in  the  memory  of  mankind.  In 
the  garret  of  Holborn,  where  the  latter  expired,  the  following  inorceau  was 
picked  up  by  an  Irish  housemaid  (a  native  of  this  parish),  who,  in  writing  home 
to  a  sweetheart,  converted  it  into  an  envelope  for  her  letter.  It  thus  came  into 
my  possession. 

P.  Prout, 

TO  THE  HOT  WELLS   OF  CLIFTON. 

IN   PRAISE   OF   RUM-PUNCH. 

A  Triglot  Ode,  viz. : 
1°  Tlti'^apou  irt^i  pBVfiaTO?  tadrj. 

2°  Horatii  in  fontem  Bristolii  carmen. 

3°  a  ficUcfe  (unputUsticli)  Of  "  ttie  unfortunate  ffifiatttrtfln." 


IlrjyTj  Bpi<7ToA.ta? 
MaAXov  €v  1/aA.a) 
Aaixnovcr'  avQeai.  <tvv 
>'e(CTapo?  o^iTj 

Pev/ittTi  TToAA&r 

Mi(ry  tov 

Kai  /^leAiTos  iroXv. 


I. 

O  fons  Bristolii 
Hoc  magis  in  vitro 
Dulci  digne  mero 
Non  sine  floribus 
Vas  impleveris 
Unda 

Mel  solvente 
Caloribus. 


CHATTERTON. 
1. 

J  k£tt  ^onx  tDortFt, 
"^ot  tDfUs"  of  ^risi0l, 
•aikat  bvihble  forth 
^s  rkar  as  rrsstal;... 
In  parlour  sntig 
5'b  tDtsh  no  hoitn 
■^To  mix  3  jug 
<Df  ^om  anb  gSattr. 


474 


The  Works  of  Father  Prout. 


/3 

kvr\p  Kqv  Ti?  epav 
jSovXerat  77  fiaxfy 
2oi  BaK\ov  KaGapov 
Sot  Siaxp<^vw(TeL 

<I>OtVCi) 

0'  aifiaTL  vafia.' 
ITpoSv/xos  re 
Tax  ecrcreTat. 


11. 

Si  quis  vel  venerem 
Aut  praelia  cogitat. 
Is  Bacchi  calidos 
Inficiet  tibi 
Rubro  sanguine 
Rivos, 

Fietprotinus 
Impiger  ! 


3E3E. 

^oth  l)obe,  Bffuna  chwl, 
©nc's  bosom 'mfue? 
^oulb  attB  feel 
^ipe  for  a' sniffle? 
■^he  simplest  plan 
Is  just  to  take  a 
^cll  stiffcnci)  ean 
®f  ol5  Jamsira. 


2e  <|)\eyfi'  ai^oAoev 

Seiptou  a(7T6po5 

Ap/xo^et  TrAojTopl* 

2u  Kpuos  TiSui*  ei/ 

?«r](TOis 

AvTi\e<rat(rc 

Iloteis 

K'  ai6i.Qn(x)v  (f)vXw. 


III. 

Te  flagrante  bibax 
Ore  canicula 
Sugit  navita  :  tu 
Frigus  amabile 
Fessis  vomere 
Mauris 
Prsebes  ac 
Homini  nigro. 


II3E. 

beneath  the  5onc 
grog  in  a  pail  or 
^nm— best  alone— 
Jelighis  the  sailor, 
^he  can  he  sbjills 
elllonc  gibes  bigour 
in  the  Antilles 
%o  toJtitc  or  nigger. 


Kprjvat?  ev  re  Ka\ais 

E(70"eai  a^Xarj 

S'  ev  /coiAoj  KvkaKi 

'EvOefieirqv  eu? 

YjoirTjcrw, 

AoAov  ef  ou 

5ov  5e  pevfia  KodoAAerat. 


IV. 

Fies  nobilium 
Tu  quoque  fontium 
Me  dicente  ;  cavum 
Dum  calicem  reples 
Umamque 
Unde  loquaces 
LjTnphae 
Desiliunt  tuae. 


3EB. 

■Shg  rlaims,  ®  fount, 
^eserbe  attention: 
^encefortoarii  count 
®n  classic  menticrn, 
^ight  pleasant  stuff 
"CkiTtc  to  tft£  lip  is... 
SSe'be  hab  enougit 
®{  ^gsnipp«'s. 


V. 

{Bentley's  Miscellany,  January,  1837.) 


— 0 — 
SCRAP    No.  III. 


Watergrasshill. 


When  single-speech  Hamilton  made  in  the  Irish  Commons  that  one  memor- 
able hit,  and  persevered  ever  after  in  obdurate  taciturnity,  folks  began  very 
justly  to  suspect  that  all  was  not  right  :  in  fact,  that  the  solitary  ^gg  on  which 
he  thus  sat,  plumed  in  all  the  glory  of  incubation,  had  been  laid  by  another. 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Wolfe  is  supposed  to  be  the  author  of  a  single  poem,  unparal- 
leled in  the  English  language  for  all  the  qualities  of  a  true  lyric,  breathing  the 
purest  spirit  of  the  antique,  and  setting  criticism  completely  at  defiance— I  say  j 
supposed,  for  the  gentleman  himself  never  claimed  its  authorship  during  his 
short  and  unobtrusive  hfetime.  He  who  could  write  the  "  Funeral  of  Sir  John 
Moore  "  must  have  eclipsed  all  the  lyric  poets  of  this  latter  age  by  the  fervour 
and  brilliancy  of  his  powers.  Do  the  other  writings  of  Mr,  Wolfe  bear  any 
traces  of  inspiration  ?     None. 

I  fear  we  must  look  elsewhere  for  the  origin  of  these  beautiful  lines  ;  and  I 
think  I  can  put  the  public  on  the  right  scent.  In  1749  Colonel  de  Beaumanoir, 
a  native  of  Brittany,  having  raised  a  regiment  in  his  own  neighbourhood,  went 
out  with  it  to  India,  in  the  unfortunate  expedition  commanded  by  Lally  Tolen- 
dal,  the  failure  of  which  eventually  lost  to  the  French  their  possessions  in 
Hindostaru  The  Colonel  was  killed  in  defending,  against  the  forces  of  Coote, 
PONDICHERRY,  the  last  stronghold  of  the  French  in  that  hemisphere. 

He  was  buried  that  night  on  the  north  bastion  of  the  fortress  by  a  few  faith- 
ful followers,  and  the  next  dav  the  fleet  sailed  %\ith  the  remainder  of  the  garri- 
son for  Europe.  In  the  appendix  to  the  Alemoirs  of  Lally  Tolendal,  by  his 
son,  the  following  lines  occur,  which  bear  some  resemblance  to  those  attributed 
to  Wolfe.  Perhaps  Wolfe  Tone  mix  have  communicated  them  to  his  relative 
the  clergyman  on  his  return  from  France.    Fides  sit  penes  lectorem. 

P.  Prout. 

THE  ORIGINAL  OF   "NOT  A  DRUM  WAS   HEARD." 

I. 

Ni  le  son  du  tambour... ni  le  marche  fun^bre... 

Ni  le  feu  des  soIdats...ne  marque  son  depart. — 
Mais  du  Brave,  a  la  hate  a  travers  les  tenebres. 

Momes...nous  portanes  le  cadavTe  au  rempart ! 


4/6  The   Works  of  Father  Prout, 


II. 

De  minuit  cetait  I'heure,  et  solitaire  et  sombre — 
La  lune  a  peine  offrait  un  debile  rayon  : 

La  lanterne  luisait  peniblement  dans  I'ombre, 
Quand  de  la  bayonette  on  creusa  le  gazon. 

III.  • 

D'inutile  cercueil  ni  de  drap  funeraire 

Nous  ne  daignames  point  entourez  le  HeroS  ; 

II  gisait  dans  les  plis  du  manteau  militaire 

Comme  un  guerrier  qui  dort  son  heure  de  repos. 

IV. 

La  priere  qu'on  fit  fut  de  courte  dur^e  : 

Nul  ne  parla  de  deuil,  bien  que  le  coeur  fut  plein  ! 

Mais  on  fixait  du  Mokt  la  figure  adoree... 
Mais  avec  amertume  on  songeait  au  demain 

V. 

Au  demain  !  quand  ici  ou  sa  fosse  s'apprete. 
Oil  son  humide  lit  on  dresse  avec  sahglots, 

L'ennemi  orgueilleux  marchera  sur  satete, 
Et  nous,  ses  veterans,  serons  loin  siurles  flots 

VI. 

lis  temirent  sa  gloire...on  pourra  les  entendre 
Nommer  I'illustre  mort  d'un  ton  amer...ou  fol : — 

II  les  laissera  dire,— Eh  !  qu'importe  A  sa  cendre 
Que  la  main  d'un  Breton  a  confiee  au  sol? 

VII. 

L'oeuvre  durait  encor,  quand  retentir  la  cloche 
Au  sommet  du  Befroi :— et  le  canon  lointain 

Tir6  par  intervalle  en  annon(;ant  I'approche 
Signalait  la  fierte  de  l'ennemi  hautain. 

vin. 

Et  dans  sa  fosse  alors  le  mimes  lentement... 

Pres  du  champ  oil  sa  gloire  a  et6  consommte 
Ne  mimes  a  I'endroit  pierre  ni  monument, , 

Le  laissant  a  seul  avec  sa  Renommee  ! 


VI. 

{Bentleys  Miscellany,  March,  1837.) 


— 0- 


"  Beware  !  beware  !"  said  the  Soothsayer 

To  the  "  noblest  of  the  Romans;" 
And  well  had  it  been  for  Julius,  I  ween, 

Had  he  lent  an  ear  to  the  summons. 
Calphurnia  sigh'd,  the  screech-owl  cried, 

The  March  gale  blew  a  barrasca. 
Yet  out  he  went  to  "meet  Parhament," 

And  the  dagger  of  "envious  Casca." 


II. 

"Beware  how  you  land  !  "  wrote  old  Talleyrand 

To  his  Elba  friend,  for,  heigh  O  ! 
One  bleak  March  day  he  would  fain  sail  away 

In  a  hooker  from  Porto  Ferrajo. 
And  well  had  it  been,  in  the  year  ''fifteen" 

Had  he  not  pursued  that  folly  on, 
Mad  as  any  "  March  hare,"  though  told  to  beware; 

But  alas  and  alack  for  Napoleon  ! 


III. 

"  Beware,  beware  !  of  the  Black  Friere," 

So  singeth  a  dame  of  Byron  ; 
Arouse  not  him  !  'tis  a  perilous  whim, — 

'Tis  "  meddling  with  cold  iron." 
E'en  in  crossing  the  ridge  of  Blackfriars  Bridge, 

When  you  come  to  the  midmost  arch. 
While  'tis  blowing  hard, — be  then  on  your  guard. 
Then  carefully  look  to  your  hat  and  peruke, 

And  "  beware  of  the  Ides  of  March  !  " 


478  The  Works  of  FatJier  Prout. 


VII. 

{Bentley's  Miscellany,  April,  1837.) 

LES   POISSONS   D'AVRIL. 
Teddy  O'Driscoll,  Schoolmaster,  etc.,  to  the  Editor. 

Watergrasshill,  2oih  March. 

Sir. 
In  answer  to  your  application  for  further  scraps  of  the  late  P.  P. ,  and  in 
reply  to  your  just  reproof  of  my  remissness  in  forwarding,  as  agreed  upon,  the 
monthly  supplies  to  your  Miscellany,  I  have  only  to  plead,  as  my  "  apology," 
the  "  fast  of  Lent,"  which  in  these  parts  is  kept  with  such  vigour  as  totally  to 
dry  up  the  genial  moisture  of  the  brain,  and  desiccate  the  Ku\a  pitdpa  of  the 
fancy.  In  justice  to  Ireland,  I  must  add  that,  by  the  combined  exertions  of 
patriots  and  landlords,  we  are  kept  at  the  proper  starving-point  all  the  year 
round  :  a  bUssful  state  not  likely  to  be  disturbed  by  any  provisions  in  the  new 
Irish  "poor-law."  My  corresp>ondence  must  necessarily  be  y>y'////t',  like  the 
season.  I  send  you,  however,  an  appropriate  song,  which  our  late  pastor  used 
to  chant  over  his  red  herring  whenever  a  friend  from  Cork  would  drop  in  to 
partake  of  such  Lenten  entertainment  as  his  frugal  kitchen  could  afford. 

THE   SIGNS   OF  THE  ZODIAC. 

A  Gastronotnical  Chant. 

"  Sunt  Aries,  Taurus,  Cancer,  Leo,  Scorpio,  Virgo. 
Libraque  et  Arcitenens,  Gemini.  Capra,  Amphora,  Pisces." 

I. 

Of  a  tavern  the  Sun  every  month  takes  "  the  run." 

And  a  dozen  each  year  wait  his  wishes  ; 
One  month  with  old  Prout  he  takes  share  of  a  trout. 

And  puts  up  at  the  sign  of  the  Fishes  )(. 
'Tis  an  old-fashion'd  inn,  but  more  quiet  within 

Than  the  V,via.  8  or  the  Lion  ^— both  boisterotis  ; 
And  few  would  fain  dwell  at  the  Scorpion  V\  hoteJ, 

Or  THE  Crab  5d  — but  this  last  is  an  oyster-house  ! 


The  Signs  of  the  Zodiac.  /i^yg 


II. 

At  the  sign  of  the  Scales  =0:  fuller  measure  prevails ; 

At  THE  Ram  T  the  repast  may  be  richer ; 
Old  Goethe  oft  wrote  at  the  sign  of  the  Goat  V? , 

Though  at  times  he'd  drop  in  at  the  Pitcher  ^. 
And  those  who  have  stay'd  at  the  sign  of  the  Maid  tlj 

In  desirable  quarters  have  tarried  ; 
While  some  for  their  sins  must  put  up  with  THE  Twins  H, 

Having  Bad  the  mishap  to  get  married. 


III. 

But  THE  Fishes  }{  combine  in  one  mystical  sign 

A  moral  right  apt  for  the  banquef ; 
And  a  practical  hint,  which  I  ne'er  saw  in  print. 

Yet  a  Rochefoucauld  maxim  I  rank  it : — 
If  a  secret  I'll  hide,  or  a  project  confide 

To  a  comrade's  good  faith  and  devotion, 
Oh  !  the  friend  whom  I'd  wish,  though  he  drank  like  a  fish, 

Should  be  mute  as  the  tribes  of  the  ocean. 


48o 


The   Works  of  Father  Front. 


VIII. 

{Bentle/s  Miscellany,  May,  1837.) 


To  THE  Editor  of  "  Bentley's  Miscellany." 


Sir,— 


Under  the  above  title  I  forward  you  two  more  scraps  from  Watergrass- 
hill. 

The  first  is  a  glee  in  praise  of  poverty,  a  subject  on  which  poets  of  every 
country  have  a  common  understanding.  The  Italian  Berni  indeed  went  a  step 
further  when  he  sang  "the  comforts  of  being  in  debt," — La  laude  del  dcbito  ; 
but  your  enthusiast  never  knows  when  to  stop.  This  MS.  may  suit  in  the 
present  state  of  the  money  marlcet— a  bill  drawn  by  Burns  and  endorsed  by 
Beranger.  You  can  rely  on  the  Scotchman's  signature,  experio  crede  Roberto  ; 
while  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  French  songster's  financial  condition  fully 
entitles  him  to  join  Bums  in  an  attempt  of  this  kind.  Since,  however,  much 
spurious  paper  appears  to  be  afloat,  you  will  use  your  own  discretion  as  to 
the  foreign  acceptance. 

Of  Scrap  No.  VI.  I  say  nothing,  Dr.  Prout  having  left  a  note  on  the  subject 
prefixed  to  the  same. 

Yours,  S:c. , 

RORY  O'DRYSCULL. 

Watergrasshill,  April  20. 

SCRAP  No.  V. 


I. 

Is  there, 

For  honest  poverty, 

That  hangs  his  head, 

And  a'  that  ? 
The  coward  slave, 
We  pass  him  by, 

We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that ! 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
Our  toils  obscure, 

And  a'  that; 
The  rank  is  but 
The  guinea's  stamp. 

The  Man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 


I. 

Quoi !  pauvre  honnete 

Baisser  la  tete? 
Quoi  !  rougir  de  le  sorte  ? 

Que  I'ame  basse 

S'eloigne  et  passe 
Nous — soyons  gueu.x  !  n'importe 

Travail  obscur — 
N'importe ! 

Qu'il  ne  soit  point 

Marque  au  coin 
D'un  noble  rang — qu'importe  ! 


Burns  aiid  Beranger, 


481 


II. 

^Vhat  though 

On  hamely  fare  we  dine. 

Wear  hoddin  grey, 

And  a'  that ; 
Gi'e  fools  their  silks, 
And  knaves  their  wine, 

A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that : 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
Their  tinsel  show. 

And  a'  that  ; 
The  honest  man. 
Though  e'er  sae  poor, 

Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that. 


II. 

Quoiqu'on  diit  faire 

Bien  maigre  chfere 
Et  vetir  pauvre  vetement ; 

Aux  sots  leur  soie, 

Leur  vin,  leur  joie  ; 
^a  fait-il  Thomme?  eh,  nullement ! 

Luxe  et  grandeur — 
Qu'importe  ! 

Train  et  splendeur — 
Qu'importe  ! 

Coeurs  vils  et  creux  ! 

Un  noble  gueux 
Vant  toute  la  cohorte  ! 


III. 

Ye  see 

Yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord. 

What  struts,  and  stares,  ' 

And  a'  that ; 
Though  hundreds  worship 
At  his  word, 

He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that  : 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 
His  riband,  star, 

And  a'  that  ; 
The  man  of 
Independent  mind, 

He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that. 


III. 

Voyez  ce  fat — 

Un  vain  eclat 
L'entour,  et  on  I'encense ; 

Mais  apres  tout 

Ce  n'est  qu'un  fou, — 
Un  sot,  quoiqu'il  en  pense. 

Terra  et  maison, 
Qu'il  pense — 

Titre  et  blazon, 
Qu'il  pense — 

Or  et  ducats, 

Non  !  ne  font  pas 
La  vraie  independence. 


IV. 

A  king 

Can  mak'  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke, 

And  a'  that  ; 
But  an  Honest  Man's 
Aboon  his  might, 

Guid  faith,  he  maunna  fa'  that  ! 

For  a'  that,  and  a' that, 
Their  dignities. 

And  a'  that. 
The  pith  o'  sense, 
And  pride  o'  worth, 

Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that 


IV. 

Un  roi  peut  faire 
Due,  dignitaire, 
Comte  et  marquis,  joumellement ; 
Mais  ce  qu'on  nomme 

Un  HONNETE    HOMME, 

Le  peut-il  faire  ?  et,  nullement ! 
Tristes  faveurs  ! 

Reellement  ; 
Pauvres  honneurs ! 

Reellement ; 
Le  fier  maintiea 
Des  gens  de  bien 
Leur  manque  essentiellement. 


Then  let  us  pray- 
That  come  it  may — 
As  come  it  will 

For  a'  that — 
That  sense  and  worth, 
O'er  a'  the  earth. 

May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that  ! 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
It's  coming  yet 

For  a'  that, 
That  man  to  man. 
The  warld  o'er. 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 


Or  faisons  voeu 

Qu'a  tous,  sous  peu, 
Arrive  un  jour  de  jugement ; — 

Amis,  ce  jour 

Aura  son  tour, 
J'en  prends,  j'en  prends,  I'engagement, 

Espoir  et  en- 
couragement, 

Aux  pau\Tres  gens 
Soulagement ; 

'Lors  sur  la  terre 

Vivrons  en  freres, 
Et  librement,  et  sagement ! 


482  The  Works  of  Father  Front. 


IX. 

(Bentley's  Miscellany,  May,  1837.) 


— 0 — 

SCRAP   No.  VI. 

Passertno,  in  his  "  History  of  the  Gonzagas  "  (fol.  Mantua,  1620),  tells  us,  at 
page  781,  that  a  Polish  army  having  penetrated  to  the  Euxine,  found  the  ashes 
with  many  MSS.  under  a  marble  monument,  which  they  transferred  in  pomp 
to  Cracow,  A.d.  1581.  It  is  well  known  that  the  exiled  Roman  had  written 
sundry  poems  in  barbaric  metre  to  gratify  the  Scythian  and  Getic  literati,  by 
whom  he  was  surrounded.     We  have  his  own  words  for  it  : 

"  Ccepique  poetce 
Inter  htonaiws  not/ten  habere  Getas." 

The  following  is  a  fair  specimen,  procured  by  the  kindness  of  the  late  erudite 
Quaff-y-punchovitz,  Keeper  of  the  Archives  of  the  Cracovian  University.  The 
rhythmic  termination,  called  by  the  Greeks  o/xoLOTeXtvTov  is  here  clearly  trace- 
able to  a  Northern  origin.  It  would  appear  that  the  Scandinavian  poets  took 
great  pride  in  the  nicety  and  richness  of  those  rhymes,  by  which  they  beguiled 
the  tediousness  of  their  winter  nights  : 

*' Accipvint  iniviicafn  hyeviein  rij>iisgue,/atisc7int." 

Ovid  first  tried  thus  an  experiment  on  his  native  tongue,  which  was  duly 
followed  up  by  the  Church,  not  unwilling  to  indulge,  by  any  reasonable  con- 
cession, her  barbarous  converts  in  the  sixth  centur)'.  Of  Mr.  Lover's  transla- 
tion it  were  superfluous  to  point  out  the  miraculous  fidelity  ;  delicate  gallantry 
and  well-sustained  humour  distinguish  every  line  of  his  vernacular  version, 
hardly  to  be  surpassed  by  the  Ars  amandi  of  his  Latin  competitor. 

LOVER  AND  OVID. 

TO   THE   HARD-HEARTED     MOLLY    CAREW  I  AD     MOLLISSIMAM     PUELLAM      E      GETICA 

THE  LAMENT  OF  HER  IRISH  LOVER.  CAKUARUM      FAMILIA     OVIDIL'S     NASO 

LAMENT.\TUR. 
I.  I. 

Och  hone !        _  Heu  !  heu  ! 

Oh  !  what  will  I  do?  Me  taedet,  me  piget  0  ! 

Sure  my  love  is  all  crest,  Cor  mihi  riget  o  ! 

Like  a  bud  in  the  frost...  Ut  flos  sub  frigido... 

And  there's  no  use  at  all  Et  nox  ipsa  mi  tum 


Lover  and  Ovid. 


483 


In  my  going  to  bed  ; 

For  'tis  dhrames,  and  not  sleep, 

'J'hat  comes  into  my  head... 

And  'tis  all  about  you, 
My  sweet  Molly  Carew, 
And  indeed  'tis  a  sin 
And  a  shame. — 

You're  complater  than  nature 
In  every  feature  ; 
Ihe  snow  can't  compare 
'l"o  your  forehead  so  fair ; 
And  I  rather  would  spy 
Just  one  blink  of  your  eye 
Than  the  purtiest  star 
That  shines  out  of  the  sky  ; 
Tho' — by  this  and  by  that ! 
For  the  matter  o'  that — 
You're  more  distant  by  far 
Than  that  same. 

Och  hone,  wierasthrew ! 
I  am  alone 
In  this  world  without  you  ! 


Cum  vado  dormitum. 
Infausta,  insomnis, 
Transcurritur  omnis... 

Hoc  culpa  fit  tua 
Mi,  mollis  Cariia, 
Sic  mihi  illudens. 
Nee  pudens. — 

Prodigium  tu,  re 
Es,  vera,  naturae, 
Candidior  lacte  ; — 
Plus  fronte  cum  hac  te. 
Cum  istis  ocellis, 
Plus  omnibus  stellis 
Mehercule  vellem. — 
Sed  heu,  me  imbellem  ! 
A  me,  qui  sum  fidus, 
Vel  ultimum  sidus 
Non  distat  te  magis.,. 
Quid  agis ! 

Heu  !  heu  !  nisi  tu 
Me  ames, 
Perec  !  pillaleu  ! 


Och  hone  ! 

But  why  should  I  speak 
Of  your  forehead  and  eyes. 
When  your  nose  it  defies 
Paddy  Blake  the  schoolmaster 

To  put  it  in  rhyme?... 
Though  there's  one  Burke, 
He  says. 
Who  would  call  it  SnubWra^  — 

And  then  for  your  cheek, 
Throth,  'twould  take  him  a  week 
Its  beauties  to  tell 
As  he'd  rather  : — 

Then  your  lips,  O  machree  ! 
In  their  beautiful  glow 
They  a  pattern  might  be 
For  the  cherries  to  grow. — 
'Twas  an  apple  that  tempted 
Our  mother,  we  know ; 
For  apples  were  scarce 
I  suppose  long  ago  : 
But  at  this  time  o'  day, 
'Pon  my  conscience  I'll  say, 
Such  cherries  might  tempt 
A  man's  father  ! 

Och  hone,  wierasthrew ! 
I'm  alone 
In  this  world  without  you ! 


II. 

Heu  '  heu  ! 

Sed  cur  sequar laude 
Ocellos  aut  frontem 
Si  NASI,  cum  fraude, 
Praetereo  pontem?... 

Ast  hie  ego  minus 
Quam  ipse  Longinus 
In  verbis  exprimem 
Hunc  nasum  sublimem., 

De  florida  gena 
Vulgaris  camoena 
Cantaret  in  vanum 
Per  annum. — 

Tum,  tibi  puella  ! 
Sic  tument  labella 
Ut  nil  plus  jueundum 
Sit,  aut  rubicundum ; 
Si  primitus  homo 
Collapsus  est  pomo. 
Si  dolor  et  luctus 
Venerunt  per  fructus, 
Proh  !  aetas  nunc  serior 
Ne  cadat,  vereor, 
Icta  tarn  Leilo 
Labello  ! 

Heu  !  heu  !  nisi  tu 
Me  ames, 
Perec !  pillaleu  ! 


Och  hone ! 

By  the  man  in  the  moon  ! 
You  teaze  me  all  ways 
That  a  woman  can  plaze  ; 

For  you  dance  twice  as  high 
With  that  thief  Pat  Macghee 
As  when  you  take  share 
Of  a  jig,  dear,  with  me  ; 


III. 

Heu  !  hen  ! 

Per  corKua  lunae 
Perpetub  tu  ne 
Me  vexes  Impunfe  ?... 

I  nunc  choro  salta 
(Mae-ghius  nam  tecum) 
Planta  magis  alta 
Quam  sueveris  mecum  !. 


484 


TJie    Works  of  Father  Front. 


Though  the  piper  I  bate. 
For  fear  the  ould  chate 
Wouldn't  play  you  your 
Favourite  tune. 

And  when  you're  at  Mass 
My  devotion  you  crass, 
For  'tis  thinking  of  you 
I  am,  Molly  Carew  ; 
While  you  wear  on  purpose 
A  bonnet  so  deep. 
That  I  can't  at  your  sweet 
Pretty  face  get  a  peep. 
Oh  !  lave  off  that  bonnet. 
Or  else  I'll  lave  on  it 
The  loss  of  my  wandering 
Sowl! 


Tibicinem  quando 
Cogo  fustigando 
Ne  falsum  det  melos, 
Anhelus. — 

A  te  in  sacello 
Vix  mentem  revello, 
Heu  !  misere  scissam 
Te  inter  et  Missam  ; 
Tu  latitas  vero 
Tam  stricto  galero 
Ut  cernere  vultum 
Desiderem  multiim. 
Et  dubites  jam,  num 
(Ob  animas  damnum) 
Sit  fas  hunc  deberi 
Auferri  ? 


48; 


X. 


%  baptismal  €\n\xl 

{Bentleys  Miscellany,  July,  1837.) 


already  popular  periodical] 

'Pl'Ne— "  The  Groves  of  Blarney." 


"lUe  ego  qui  quondam, 


In  the  month  of  Janus, 
WTien  Boz,  to  gain  us,__ 
Quite  "Miscellaneous, 

Flash' d  his  wit  so  keen, 
One  (Prout  they  call  him) 
In  style  most  solemn. 
Led  off  the  volume 

Of  his  magazine. 

II. 

Though  Maga  'mongst  her 
Bright  lot  of  youngsters 
Had  many  songsters 

For  her  opening  tome  : 
Yet  she  would  rather 
Invite  "the  Father," 
And  an  indulgence  gather 

From  the  Pope  of  Rome. 

III. 

And  such  a  beauty, 
From  head  to  shoe-tie, 
Without  dispute  we 

Found  her  first  boy, 
That  she  determined     _  ^ 
(There's  such  a  charm  in  t) 
The  Father's  varmint 

She'd  again  employ. 


'&c.,&c. 

IV. 

While  other  children 
Are  quite  bewilderin' , 
The  joy  that  fiU'd  her  m 

This  bantUng.  'cause 
What  eve  but  glistens. 
And  what  ear  but  hstens, 
^^■hen  the  clergy  chnstens 

A  babe  of  Boz?. 

V. 

I've  got  a  scruple 
That  this  young  pupil 
Surprised  its  parent 

Ere  her  time  was  sped ; 
Else  I'm  umvar>'. 
Or  'tis  she's  a  fairj^ 
For  in  January 

She  was  brought  to  bed. 

VI. 

This  infant  may  be 
A  six-months  baby. 
But  may  his  cradle 

Be  blest !  say  I : 
And  luck  defend  him, 
And  joy  attend  him. 
Since  we  can't  mend  him, 

Bom  in  July. 


He's  no  abortion, 
But  bom  to  fortune ; 
And  most  opportune, 

Though  before  his  time. 
Him  Muses  nourish, 
And  make  him  flourish 
Quite  Tommy  Moore-ish 

Both  in  prose  and  rhyme. 


VIII. 

I  remember  also 

That  the  month  they  call  so 

From  Roman  Julius, 

The  "Caesarian "  styled, 
Who  was  no  goshng. 
But  like  this  BozUng, 
From  both  a  dazzling 

And  precocious  child. 


God  Save  the  Queen. 


487 

XI. 

®&^  ii^^'s  \ 

|r0gr^ss» 

[Beniley  s  Miscellany ,  July,  1837.) 

—0 — 

I. 

I. 

When  I  was  a  boy 

Pater  me  clauserat 

In  my  father's  mud  edifice, 

Domi  homunculum  : 

Tender  and  bare 

Grunniens  sus  erat 

As  a  pig  in  a  sty  : 

Comes,  ut  mos  : 

Out  of  the  door  aS  I 

Transibat  tibicen 

Look'd  with  a  steady  phiz, 

Juxta  domunculam 

Who  but  Thade  Murphy 

Quando  per  januam 

The  piper  went  by. 

Protuli  OS ; 

Says  Thady,  ' '  But  few  play 

lUe  ait  impromptu 

,   This  music — can  you  play?" 

"  Hac  tibia  num  tu, 

Says  I,  "  I  can't  tell, 

Ut  te  sine  sumptu 

For  I  never  did  try." 

Edoceam  vis?" 

So  he  told  me  that  he  had  a  charm 

Turn  pressit  amiculam 

To  make  the  pipes  purtily  speak  ; 

Sub  ulna  vesiculam 

Then  squeezed  a  bag  under  his  arm, 

Quae  sonum  reddidit 

When  sweetly  they  set  up  a  squeak ! 

Vocibus  his ; 

Fa-ra-la-la-ra-la-loo  ! 

Fa-ra-la-la-ra-la-loo  / 

Och  hone  ! 

^f.v,  (pf.v  ! 

How  he  handled  the  drone  ! 

Modoflens,  ?nodo fla7is. 

And  then  the  sweet  music  he  blew 

Magico  tXeXau 

Would  have  melted  the  heart  of  a 

Cor  et  atirem  vel  lapidi  dans  I 

stone  / 

2. 

II. 

"Your  pipe,"  says  I,  "Thady, 

Cui  ego  turn  ' '  In  sic,  ah ! 

So  neatly  comes  o'er  me, 

Me  rapis  musica 

Naked  I'll  wander 

Ut  sequar  nudulus 

Wherever  it  blows  : 

Tibicen  te  ! 

And  if  my  poor  parents 

Et  si  pater  testibus 

Should  try  to  recover  me. 

Quserat  me,  vestibua 

Sure,  it  won't  be 

Redibit  asdepol ! 

By  describing  my  clothes. 

Vacua  re. 

488                   The  Works  of  Father  Front. 

The  music  I  hear  now 

Sic  melos  quod  audio 

Takes  hold  of  my  ear  now, 

Me  replet  gaudio 

And  leads  me  all  over 

Ut  trahor  campos  et 

The  world  by  the  nose." 

Flumina  trans  : 

So  I  follow'd  his  bagpipe  so  sweet, 

Jam  linquo  rudibus 

And  I  sung  as  I  leap'd  like  a  frog, 

Hie  in  paludibus 

"Adieu  to  my  family  seat, 

Patris  tigurium 

So  pleasantly  placed  in  a  bog." 

Splendide  stans. 

Fa-ra-la-la-ra-la-loo  ! 

Fa-ra-la-la-ra-la-loo  f 

Och  hone! 

Dum  tibicen,  tu, 

How  we  handled  the  drone  / 

Modojlefis,  modo flans, 

And  then  the  sweet  music  we  blew 

Iteras  aXtXtu 

Would  have  incited  the  heart  of 

Cor  et  aurem  vcl  lapidi  dans! 

a  stone/ 

3- 

HI. 

Full  five  years  I  follow'd  him, 

Ut  arle  sic  magica 

Nothing  could  sunder  us ; 

Egi  quinquennium  : 

Till  he  one  morning 

Magistro  tragica 

Had  taken  a  sup. 

Accidit  res ; 

And  slipt  from  a  bridge 

Bacchi  nam  numine 

In  a  river  just  under  us 

Pontis  cacumine 

Souse  to  the  bottom 

Dum  staret  fiumine 

Just  like  a  blind  pup. 

Labitur  pes  ! 

He  roar'd  and  he  bawl'd  out; 

"  E  sinu  fluctuum 

And  I  also  call'd  out. 

O  puer,  due  tuum 

"  Now  Thady,  my  friend, 

(Clamat)  didascalum 

Don't  you  mean  to  come  up  ?" 

Fer  opem  nans  !  "... 

He  was  dead  as  a  nail  in  a  door — 

Ast  ego  renuo  : 

Poor  Thady  was  laid  on  the  shelf. 

Et  sumens  denuo 

So  I  took  up  his  pipes  on  the  shore, 

Littore  tibias 

And  now  I've  set  up  for  myself. 

Sustuli  fans. 

Fa-ra-la-la-ra-la-loo  1 

Fa-ra-la-la-ra-la-loo  ! 

Och  hone  ! 

^IV,    (pEV  ! 

Don't  I  handle  the  drone  ! 

Modoflens,  modo  flans. 

And  play  such  sweet  music?    I,  too. 

Magico  t\t\iv 

Can't  I  soften  the   heart  of  a 

Cor  et  aurem  vel  lapidi  dans  ! 

stone ! 

XII. 

(Benileys  Miscellany,  September,  1837.) 

— 0 — 

[This  ninth  "  Song  of  the  ISIonth"  in  Bent  ley,  like  the  first  and  the  seventh,  was  from 
the  hand  of  Father  Prout.] 

"  Duo  quisque  Alpina  coruscat 
Gaesa  manu." — yEneid,  lib.  8. 

ITai/  irpayna  ovas  EX^t  Xa^a? — Epictetus. 

September  the  first  on  the  moorland  hath  burst, 

And  already  with  jocund  carol 
Each  XiMROD  of  NousE  hurries  off  to  the  grouse, 

And  has  shoulder'd  his  Double  Barrel  : 
For  well  doth  he  ken,  as  he  hies  through  the  glen, 
That  scanty  will  be  his  latirel 
Who  hath  not 
On  the  spot 
(Should  he  miss  a  first  shot) 
Some  resource  in  a  Double  Barrel, 

'Twas  the  Goddess  of  Sport,  in  her  woodland  court, 

DLA.NA,  first  taught  this  moral, 
Which  the  Goddess  of  Love  soon  adopted,  and  strove 

T  improve  on  the  "  double  barrel." 
Hence  her  Cupid,  we  know,  put  two  strings  to  his  bow. 
And  she  laughs  when  two  lovers  quarrel. 
At  the  lot 
Of  the  sot 
Who,  to  soothe  him,  han't  got 
The  resource  of  a  Double  Barrel. 

Nay,  the  hint  was  too  good  to  lie  hid  in  the  wood, 

Or  to  lurk  in  two  lips  of  coral ; 
Hence  the  God  of  the  Grape  (who  his  betters  would  ape) 

Knows  the  use  of  a  Double  Barrel. 
His  escutcheon  he  decks  with  a  double  XX, 
And  his  blithe  October  carol 
f^ollows  up 
With  the  sup 
Of  a  flowing  ale  cup 
September's  Doziblc  Barrel. 

Watergrasshill,  Kal.  vii^"**. 


490  The  Works  of  Father  Profit. 


XIII. 

{Bentley's  Miscellany,  January,  1838.) 


[It  was  from  Genoa  the  Superb,  under  date  the  14th  of  December,  1S37,  that  Mahony 
despatched  to  Charles  Dickens,  then  in  his  twenty-sixth  year,  this  genial  apostrophe.] 

I. 

A  Rhyme  !  a  rhyme  ! 

From  a  distant  clime — 
From  the  Gulf  of  the  Genoese  : 

O'er  the  rugged  scalps 

Of  the  Julian  Alps, 
Dear  Boz,  I  send  you  these, 

To  light  the  '  IVick ' 

Your  candlestick 
Holds  up,  or,  should  you  list, 

To  usher  in 

The  yarn  you  spin 
Concerning  Oliver  Twist. 


II. 

Immense  applause 

Youve  gained,  O  Boz  ! 
Through  Continental  Europe ; 

You've  made  Pickwick 

CEcumenick ; 
Of  fame  you  have  a  sure  hope 

For  here  your  books 

Are  thought,  gadzooks ! 
A  greater  /i/xe  than  any 

That  have  issued  yet, 

Hot  press'd  or  wet. 
From  the  types  of  Galignani. 


Poetical  Epistle  from  Father  Front  to  Boz.     49 1 

III. 

But  neither  when 

You  sport  your  pen, 
O  potent  mirth-compeller  ! 

Winning  our  hearts  _ 

"  In  monthly  parts," 
Can  Pickwick  or  Sara  Weller 

Cause  us  to  weep 

With  pathos  deep. 
Or  shake  with  laugh  spasmodical, 

As  when  you  drain 

Your  copious  vein 
For  Bentley's  periodical. 

IV. 

Folks  all  enjoy 

Your  ' '  Parish  Boy, ' 
So  truly  you  depict  him  ; 

But  i,  alack  ! 

While  thus  you  track    _    _ 
Your  English  poor-laws  victim, 

Think  of  the  poor 

On  t'other  shore; 
Poor  who,  unheeded,  pensn ; 

By  squires  despoil' d. 

By  "patriots"  gull'd — 
I  mean  the  starving  Irish. 

V. 

\''et  there's  no  dearth 

Of  Irish  mirth, 
Which,  to  a  mind  of  feehng, 

Seemeth  to  be 

The  Helot's  glee 
Before  the  Spartan  reeling  : 

Such  gloomy  thought 

O'ercometh  not 
The  glow  of  England's  humour, 

Thrice  happy  isle  ! 

Long  may  the  smile 
Of  genuine  joy  illume  her  ! 

VI. 

Write  on,  young  sage  I 

Still  o'er  the  page 
Pour  forth  the  flood  of  fancy  , 

Divinely  droll ! 

Wave  o'er  the  soul 
Wit's  wand  of  necromancy. 

Behold  !  e'en  now 

Around  your  brow 
Th'  undving  laurel  thickens  I 

For  Swift  or  Sterne 

Might  live- and  learn 
A  thing  or  two  from  DiCKENS. 


492  The    Works  of  Father  Front. 


XIV. 

{Beniley's  Miscella?!}',  January,  1842.) 
— 0 — 

I. 

A  Prophet  sat  in  the  Temple  gate, 

And  he  spoke  each  passer-by, 
In  thrilling  tones — with  words  of  weight, 
And  fire  in  his  rolling  eye  ! 
"  Pause  thee,  belicvi?ig  Jew  ! 
Ncr  make  ofie  step  beyond 
Until  thy  heart  hath  conn  d 
The  mystery  of  this  wand." 
And  a  rod  from  his  robe  he  drew ;  — 
'Twas  a  withered  bough 
Tom  long  ago 
From  the  trunk  on  which  it  grew. 
But  the  branch  long  torn 
Show'd  a  bud  new  bom, 
That  had  blossom'd  there  anew. 
That  wand  was  "  Jesse's  rod," 
Svmbol,  'tis  said, 
Of  Her,  the  Maid- 
Yet  Mother  of  our  God/ 


II. 

A  Priest  of  Egypt  sat  meanwhile 

Beneath  his  palm-tree  hid, 
On  the  sacred  brink  of  the  flowing  Nile, 

And  there  saw  mirror 'd,  "mid 
Tall  obelisk  and  shadowy  pile 

Of  ponderous  pyramid. 
One  lowly,  lovely  Lotus  plant, 

Pale  orphan  of  the  flood  ; 
And  long  did  that  aged  hierophant 

Gaze  on  that  beauteous  bud ; 


The  Mistletoe.  493 


For  well  he  thought  as  he  saw  it  float 

O'er  the  waste  of  waters  wild, 
On  the  long-remember'd  cradle-boat 
Of  the  wondrous  Hebrew  child  : — 
Nor  was  that  lowly  lotus  dumb 
Of  a  mightier  Infant  still,  to  come, 
If  mystic  skiff 
And  hieroglyph 
Speak  aught  in  Luxor's  catacomb. 

III. 

A  Greek  sat  on  Colonna's  cape, 

In  his  lofty  thoughts  alone, 
And  a  volume  lay  on  Plato's  lap, 
For  he  was  that  lonely  one  ; 
And  oft  as  the  sage 
Gazed  o'er  the  page 
His  forehead  radiant  grew  ; 
For  in  Wisdom's  womb, 
Of  the  world  to  come 
A  vision  blest  his  view. 
He  broach'd  that  theme  in  the  Academe 

Of  the  teachful  olive  grove — • 
And  a  chosen  few  that  secret  knew 
In  the  Porch's  dim  alcove. 

IV. 

A  Sybil  sat  in  Cumas's  cave 

In  the  hour  of  infant  Rome, 
And  her  vigil  kept  and  her  warning  gave 

Of  the  Holy  One  to  come. 
'Twas  she  who  cuU'd  the  hallow'd  branch, 

And  silent  took  the  helm, 
When  he,  the  Founder-Sire,  would  launch 

His  bark  o'er  Hades'  realm  : 
But  chief  she  pour'd  her  vestal  soul 
Through  many  a  bright  illumined  scroll, 
By  priest  and  sage. 
Of  an  after-age, 
Conn'd  in  the  lofty  Capitol. 

V. 

A  Druid  stood  in  the  dark  oak  wood 

Of  a  distant  northern  land. 
And  he  seem'd  to  hold  a  sickle  of  gold 

In  the  grasp  of  his  wither'd  hand; 
And  he  moved  him  slowly  round  the  girth 

Of  an  aged  oak  to  see 
If  an  orphan  plant  of  wondrous  birth 

Had  clung  to  the  old  oak-tree. 
And  anon  he  knelt,  and  from  his  belt 

Unloosen'd  his  golden  blade. 
Then  rose  and  cull'd  the  Mistletoe 

Under  the  woodland  shade. 


494 


The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 


VI. 

^nf'n'i''??^'  "^^^^  ^"^blem  thou 
Of  all  dark  Egypt  knew, 

Of  all  foretold  to  the  wise  of  old 

VoRomatt,  Greek,  and  Jew. 
And  long.  God  grant,  time-honour'd  plant 

Live  we  to  see  thee  hung  "  P'anr, 

In  cottage  small,  as  in  baron's  hall 

Banner  and  shield  among  i 
Thus  fitly  rule  the  mirth  of  Yule 
c.M,      u'"  ^^>'  P^'^ce  of  pride, 
btill  usher  forth,  in  each  land  of  the  North 

The  solemn  Christmas  Tide  /  ' 


XV. 

{Bentleys  Miscellany,  February ,  i8-p.) 


When  Harrison  Ainsworth,  then  a  young  writer  of  promise,  took  up  James 
Crichton  in  place  of  Dick  Turpin,  a  noble  field  lay  before  him.  I  sketched 
the  plan,  and  pointed  out  to  him  that  the  ston-,  in  all' biographies,  of  Crichton's 
having  been  killed  in  a  drunken  brawl  at  Mantua,  by  Duke  Gonzaga,  on  the 
3rd  July,  1583,  was  manifestly  untrue,  as  there  was,  to  my  knowledge,  at  Paris, 
in  the  "  Bibliotheque  du  Roi,"  a  printed  broadsheet  of  verses  by  him,  on  the 
death  of  St.  Carlo  Borromeo,  who  died  on  the  4th  November,  1584  (a  fact  he 
was  able  to  verify  by  getting  another  copy  from  Milan).  From  other  sources  I 
showed  that  there  were  secret  reasons  for  his  reported  death,  that  he  lay  con- 
cealed at  Venice  as  corrector  of  the  press  for  Aldus  ^Fanutius,*  up  to  1585, 
was  made  private  secretary  at  Rome  to  Pope  Peretti  when  "Sixtus  Quintus  " 
became  monarch  in  central  Italy,  and  that  he  was  the  life  and  soul  of  that  great 
man's  short  reign ;  I  had  proof  that  he  was  at  Lisbon  in  15S7,  and  that,  in 
1588,  he  sailed  thence  with  his  friend  Lope  de  Vega  on  board  the  Invincible 
Armada,  to  avenge  the  death  of  Mar\',  Queen  of  Scots.  That  his  galleon, 
driven  up  the  German  Sea  and  rounding  Scotland,  was  wrecked  in  the  winter 
of  that  year  on  the  coast  of  AjTshire. 

That,  disgusted  with  the  triumphant  reign  of  Ehzabeth,  the  revolt  of  the  Low- 
Countries  from  Spain,  the  edict  of  Xantes  granted  to  the  Huguenots  by  Henri 
Quatre,  and  the  general  aspect  of  Europe,  he  gave  up  continental  affairs^  settled 
down  as  a  tranquil  farmer,  married  a  Highland  lassie,  and  lived  to  a  good  old 
age,  as  e\inced  by  his  well-authenticated  song  of  "John  Anderson  my  jo." 

This  startling  narrative  of  \\  hat  was  in  some  sort  the  posthumous  history  of 
his  hero,  Ainsworth  did  not  grapple  with,  but  stopped  at  Paris,  making  him  a 
kind  of  fencing-master,  rope-dancer,  and  court  dandy,  marr}-ing  him  to  some 
incredible  princess  of  the  blood,  and  so  forth. 

*  The  presses  of  Aldus,  and  Crichton's  share  in  their  efSciency,  suggest  to  me  the 
propriety'  of  acknowledging  the  debt  due  by  the  defunct  Prout  to  the  keen  and  accurate 
supervision  of  Mr.  Bohn  while  these  sheets  were  in  progress.  Quick  perception,  and 
intimate  acquaintance  with  the  several  languages  used  by  Prout,  rectified  many  errors, 
and  happy  tact  restored  his  text  in  many  passages. 


496  The  Works  of  FatJicr  Front. 

That  Crichton,  during  his  long  life  in  Ayrshire,  under  an  humbler  name,  was 
author  of  most  of  the  popular  songs  and  tunes  that  have  ennched  the  Land  o' 
Calies  is  known  to  a  few  only;  but  Robert  Burns  was  in  the  secret,  as  the  reader 
has  already  discovered. 

In  1841,  on  returning  from  Hungary  and  Asia  Minor  by  the  south  of  France, 
I  learnt  that  Ainsworth  had  left  the  tale  of  Crichton  half  told,  and  had  taken  up 
with  Blueskin  and  Jack  Sheppard,  Flitches  of  Bacon  and  Lancashire  Witches, 
and  thought  such  things  were  "literature."  Hence  this  ballad,  in  which  I  have 
endeavoured  to  express  what  I  know  would  have  been  the  sentiments  of  old 
Prout,  in  language  as  near  his  own  as  I  can  command. 

F.  M. 

P.A.RIS,  Nov.  I,  1859. 

THE  REDBREAST   OF  AQUITANIA. 

AN   HUMBLE   BALLAD. 

*^  Are  not  two  Sparrows  sold  for  a  farthing  1  yet  not  one  of  them  shall  fall  to  the 
ground  without  your fatJier"—?>T.  Matthew,  x.  29. 

"Gallos  ab  Aquitanis  Garumna  flumen." 

Julius  C.«sar. 

"  Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 

Sh.\kespe.\re. 

"  Genius,  left  to  shiver 
On  the  bank,  'tis  said, 
Died  of  that  cold  river." 

To.M   Moore. 

River  trip  from    Oh,  'twas  bitter  cold 
Thoulouse  to       As  our  steamboat  roll'd 
Bourdeaux  j^^^^.j^  ^^g  pathway  old 

1  hermometer  at       ^r  ^1       /        /-.  -^ 
•o.    Snow  I  foot  ,  Of  |h^  deep  Garonne,- 
and  a  half  deep.  And  the  peasant  lank. 
Use  of  wooden    While  his  sabot  sank 
shoes.  In  the  snow-clad  bank. 

Saw  it  roll  on,  on. 

Ye  Gascon  far-     And  he  hied  him  home 
mer  hieth  to  his   To  his  toit  de  ckaiime  ; 

eonne      ^    ^^'        On  the  broad  bleak  flood 
Cared  he  ? — Not  a  thought ; 
For  his  beldame  brought 
His  wine-flask  fraught 
With  the  grape's  red  blood. 

He  warmeth  his  And  the  wood-block  blaze 
cold  shins  at  a     Fed  his  vacant  gaze 
wooden  fire.  ^3  ^^.^  ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^.^^ 

Good  bye  to  ^^  ,,  , 

}^-j^      ■'  Of  the  river  down. 

Soon  we  left  behind 

On  the  frozen  wind 

All  farther  mind 

Of  that  vacant  clown. 


The  Redbreast  of  Aquitania. 


497 


Ye  Father  meet-  But  there  came  anon, 
eth  a  stray  ac-     As  we  journey' d  on 
quaintance  in  a   pown  the  deep  Garonne, 
small  bird.  ^\^  acquainiancy, 

Which  we  deem'd,  I  count, 
Of  more  high  amount, 
For  it  oped  the  fount 
Of  sweet  sympathy. 

Not  ve  famous    'Twas  a  stranger  drest 
albatross  of  that  In  a  downy  vest, 
aincient  mariner  "pwas  a  wee  Redbreast, 
olde  Coleridge,        ,y^^^  ^^  ''Albatross,") 
but  a  poore  ^^^  ^  \vanderer  meek, 

robm.  ^^.j^^  ^^.j^  ssoMld.  seek 

O'er  the  bosom  bleak 
Of  that  fiood  to  cross. 

Ye  sparrow         And  we  watch' d  him  oft 
crossing  ye  river  As  he  soar'd  aloft 
makethhyshalf-  q^  j^jg  pinions  soft,  _ 
way  house  of  the      poor  wee  weak  thing, 
fire-ship.  ^^^  ^^.^  ^^^^  could  mark 

That  he  sought  our  bark. 
As  a  resting  ark 
For  his  weary  wmg. 

Delusive  hope.    But  the  bark,  f^re-fed. 
Ye  fire-ship         On  her  pathway  sped, 
runneth  lo  knots  ^^^^  shot  far  ahead 
an  hour  :  'tis  no  "    q£  ^j^g  ^^nv  bird, 
go  for  ye  spar-     ^^^  quicker  in  the  van 
''°^'  Her  swift  wheels  ran. 

As  the  quickening  fan 
Of  his  winglets  stirr  d. 


Ye  byrde  is  led    Vain,  vain  pursuit ! 

a  wilde  goose      Toil  without  fruit  ! 

chace  adown  ye  Yox  his  forked  foot 

river.  Shall  not  anchor  there, 

Tho'  the  boat  meanwhile 

Down  the  stream  beguile 

For  a  bootless  mile      _ 

The  poor  child  of  air  I 


S^-mptomes  of 
fatigue.     'Tis 
melancholie  to 
fall  between  2 
stools. 


And  'twas  plain  at  last 
He  was  flagging  fast. 
That  his  hour  had  past 

In  that  effort  vain; 
Far  from  either  bank. 
Sans  a  saving  plank. 
Slow,  slow  he  sank. 

Nor  uprose  again. 


498  The  Works  of  Fat/ier  PnmL 


Mort  of  ye  And  the  cheerlffis  wasae 

birde.  Just  one  ripple  gawe 

As  it  oped  him  a  gizve 

In  its  bosom  cekl. 
And  he  sank  alo»e. 
With  a  feeble  moan. 
In  that  deep  GaraaaCt 
And  then  all  v:3S  tsM. 

Ye  old  man  at  ye  But  our  pilot  grey- 
helm  weepeth     Wiped  a  tear  away; 
for  a  Sonne  lost    ^^  ^^^  ^^^.q^^  BiscajC 
in  ye  bay  of  Bis-       ^^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^-^  j^, 

^  That  sight  brought  hack 

On  its  furrow'd  tzack 
The  remember'd  wxedk. 
Of  long  periiJi'djay! 

Condoleance  of   And  the  tear  half  bid. 
ye  ladies ;  eke  of  In  soft  Beautv's  M 
Tchasse2ird'in-  g^^ig  f-Q^th  unhid 
fantene  lcc:ere.        ^^^  ^^^^^  redbreast !«* 
And  the  feeling  crs^ — 
For  a  W'arrior  wept; 
And  the  silence 
Found  no  fitiio^ 

Olde  Father         But  /  mused  aloEC, 
Proutte  sadly      For  I  thought  of  OOK 
moralizethanent  \\'hom  I  well  iiadi 
yebirde.  In  my  earlier- 

Of  a  gentle  nitad. 
Of  a  soul  refined. 
Of  deserts  desiga'd 

For  the  Palm  of  T-^seSL. 


Ye  Streame  of     And  well  wouVi  it : 

Lyfe.  Ayounge  That  o'er  Life's  dank rfaea*^ 

man  of  fayre        Yj\%n  task  for  hil« 

promise.  j^  j^jg  ^^gj^^  ^  p^j^j^ 

Was  the  Skywaed  Bstk 
O'er  the  billow's  WEadu 
That  for  Genius  featk 
Ever  been  the  suae. 

Hysearlieflyght  And  I  saw  him  sesar 
across  ye  From  the  monungdtaR; 

streame.  While  his  freA  wiag^baie 

Him  athwart  the  tale^ 
Soon  with  powers  vmh^vti 
As  he  fonsard  ^renlt. 
His  wings  he  had  tjcrtt 
On  theiOBgtit-foraJe. 


The  Redbreast  of  Aqiiitaiiia. 


499 


A  newe  object 
calleth  his  eye 
from  ye  maine 
chaunce. 


But  while  thus  he  flew, 
Lo  !  a  vision  new 
Caught  his  wayward  view 

With  a  semblance  fair, 
And  that  new-found  wooer 
Could,  alas  !  allure 
From  his  pathway  sure 

The  bright  child  of  air. 


Instabilitie  of      For  he  turn'd  aside, 
purpose  a  fatal!    And  adown  the  tide 
evj-11  in  lyfe.         Yox  a  brief  hour  plied 
His  yet  unspent  force. 
And  to  gam  that  goal 
Gave  the  powers  of  soul 
Which,  unwasted,  whole. 
Had  achieved  his  course. 


This  is  ye  morall  A  bright  Spirit,  young, 
of  FatherProut's  Unwept,  unsung, 
humble  baUade,  gank  thus  among 

The  drifts  of  the  stream  ; 
Not  a  record  left, — 
Of  renown  bereft, 
By  thy  cruel  theft, 

O   DELUSIVE   DKEAM. 


L'ENVOY   TO   W.  H.  AIXSW^ORTH,    ESQ. 

WHILOME  AUTHOR   OF  THE    "ADMIRABLE  CRICHTOX,"   SUBSEQUENT 
CHRONICLER  OF    "JACK   SHEPPARD." 


which  he  wrotte  Thus  sadly  I  thought 
by  waxlight  in    As  that  bird  unsought 

The  remembrance  brought 

Of  thy  bright  day  ; 

And  I  penn'd  full  soon 

This  Dirge,  while  the  moon 

On  the  broad  Garonne 

Shed  a  wintry  ray. 

F.  M. 


the  hostel  dc 
Gascoigiie  at 
Bourdeaux,  6 
Jan.  1 841. 


500  The  Works  of  Father  Proiit. 


XVI. 

{The  Cornhi II  Magazine,  January,  i860.) 


[I  am  indebted  to  the  courtesv  of  the  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder,  &  Co.  for  the  privilege  of 
including  among  the  works  of  Father  Prout  this  cordial  tribute  to  his  old  friend  and  inti- 
mate, Thackeray,  for  whose  genius  he  entertained  the  highest  admiration.] 

I. 

Ours  is  a  faster,  quicker  nge  : 
Yet  erst  in  Goldsmiths  homely  Wakefield  \'icarage, 
While  Lady  Blarney,  from  the  West  End,  glozes 

'Mid  the  Primroses, 

Fudge  !  cries  Squire  Thornhill, 
Much  to  the  wonder  of  young  greenhorn  Moses. 

Such  word  of  scorn  ill 
Matches  the  "  Wisdom  Fair  "  thy  whim  proposes 

To  hold  on  Cornhill, 

II. 

With  Fudge,  or  Blarney,  or  the  "Thames  on  Fire  1" 

Treat  not  thy  buyer ; 

But  proffer  good  material — 

A  genuine  Cereal, 
Value  for  twelvepence,  and  not  dear  at  twenty. 
Such  wit  replenishes  thy  Horn  of  Plenty  ! 

III. 

Nor  wit  alone  dispense, 

But  sease  ; 
And  with  thy  sparkling  Xerez 

Let  us  have  Ceres. 
Of  loaf  thou  hast  no  lack, 
Nor  set,  like  Shakespeare's  zany,  fort 

With  lots  of  sack, 
Of  bread  one  pennyworth. 


Inaugural  Ode  to  the  Author  of  "  Vanity  Fair''  501 


IV. 

Sprightly,  and  yet  sagacious, 
Funny,  yet  farinaceous, 
Dashing,  and  yet  methodical— 
So  may  thy  periodical, 
On  this  auspicious  morn, 

Exalt  its  horn, 
Throned  on  the  Hill  of  Com  ! 


V. 

Of  aught  that  smacks  of  sect,  surplice,  or  synod, 

Be  thy  grain  winnow'd ! 
Nor  deign  to  win  one  laugh 

With  empty  chaff. 
Shun  aught  o'er  which  dullard  or  bigot  gloats; 

Xor  seek  our  siller 
With  meal  from  Titus  Oates 

Or  flour  of  Joseph  Miller. 


VI. 

There's  corn  in  Egypt  still 
(Pilgrim  from  Cairo  to  Cornhill !), 

Give  each  his  fill. 

But,  all  comers  among 

Treat  best  the  young ; 
Fill  the  big  brothers'  knapsacks  from  thy  bins, 
But  shp  the  Cup  of  Love  in  Benjamin's. 


VIT. 

Next  as  to  those 
Who  bring  their  lumbering  verse  or  ponderous  prose 

To  where  good  Smith  and  Elder 

Have  so  long  held  their 
Well-gamish'd  Cornhill  storehouse — 

Bid  them  not  bore  us. 

Tell  them  instead 
To  take  their  load  next  street,  the  Hall  of  Lead  ! 

VIII. 

Only  one  word  besides. 

As  he  who  tanneth  hides 
Stocketh  with  proper  implements  his  tannery  : 

So  thou.  Friend  !  do  not  fail 

To  store  a  stout  corn-flail, 
Ready  for  use,  within  thy  Cornhill  granary. 

Of  old  thou  walk'd  abroad. 
Prompt  to  right  wrongs.  Caliph  Haroun  al  Rashid  : 

Deal  thus  with  Fraud, 
Or  Job  or  Humbug — thrash  it ! 


502  The  Works  of  Father  Pi'Oiit. 


IX. 

Courage,  old  Friend  !  long  found 
Firm  at  thy  task,  nor  in  fixt  purpose  fickle' 

Up  !  choose  thy  ground, 
Put  forth  thy  shining  sickle;  — 

Shun  the  dense  underwood 

Of  Dunce  or  Dunderhood ; 
But  reap  North,  South,  East,  Far  West, 

The  world-wide  Harvest  I 


C'l  L  Kiiid'jr,  rriivtcrs,  70  to  7C.,  Long  Acre,  Lciiion,  W.C, 


NATUEJ.L  HISTORY— ZOOLOGY. 

M/-  Scac^^ie'a  ISnstrated  Natural  History.     By  the  Rev.  J.  G. 

WiKS&,  M.A.  "With  more  than  1500  Illustrations.  3  Vols.,  cloth. 
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3S3fe,3^;  Reptiles,  Fishes,  and  Insects,  14s. 

^  IStooDfainislrsted  Natural  History.  With  Coloured  Illustrations. 
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28/-    EDOiSe^^r'B  IQtJStauted  History  of  Man.     Being  an  Account  of 
2l2£  MsffiSKTS  and   Customs  of  the  Uncivilised   Races  of  Men. 
^  lbs-  Itev.    J.    G.    Wood,    M.A.       With    more    than    600 
"ts^  Hhsirations.     Vol.  I.,  Africa,  14s..  Vol.  II.,  Austraha, 
Sss^ss^  Polynesia,  America,  Asiai  and  Ancient  Europe, 


Wlf~  Tfeel^fylEsistrated  Natural  History.    By  the  Rev.  J.  G.  Wood. 
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7JB  S2B  l^jgpcStr  Natiara3  History.  By  the  Rev.  J.  G.  Wood.  W^ith 
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i^  fin  I02FCni4e5  Natural  History.  By  the  Rev.  J.  G.  Wood.  With 
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WauraaA  Harkison  Weir.     Post  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  edges. 


History.     Adapted  for  Young  Readers.    By  the 
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Natural  History  for  Young-  People.    By  the  Rev. 
JLCLWOOIX    About  200  Illustrations.     Fcap.  410,  cloth. 


Boards. 


^  SteSBf^C^sra  Natural  History.    By  the  Rev.  J.  G.  Wood.  With 

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3?B  ¥^Eia5  ISsisciy  cf  Selbome.    Edited  by  the  Rev.  J.  G.  WOOR 

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^  Ws&as&l  Sistooy  of  Selbome.    Edited  by  Sir  Wm.  Jardine,  Bart. 
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3^  StaSAESZQ  Natural  History.  82  Illustrations.  Rev.  J.  C.  Atkinson. 

SjS  S3cErl(^^$e  azuS  .Anecdotes   of    Animal    Life.       Illustrations    b]i 
aas2S£<^  Weie.  Rev.  J,  G.  Wood. 


Natural  History — coniinued. 

3/6   Our  Dogs  and  their  Diseases.    Illustrated,  G.  HEATLEii 

1/6   Dogs :  Tlieir  Management  in  Health  and  Disease.    Ed.  M  ayhew. 
2/6    Dogs  and  their  Ways.  Rev,  C  Williams. 

2/-    Anecdotes  of  Dogs,  Ditto. 

1/-   The  Domestic  Cat.  Dr.  Gordon  Stables. 

10/6    The  Butterflies  of  Great  Britain.     Their  Transformations,  &c. 
20  Coloured  Plates.  J.  O.  Westwood. 

8/6    Butterflies.    200  Coloured  Illustrations.    Cloth,  gilt  edges. 

W,  S.  Coleman, 
I/-    Plain  Plates.  Ditto. 

3/6    Common  British  Moths.    100  Coloured  Illustrations.    Cloth, 

gilt  edges.  Rev.  J.  G.  WOOD. 

I/-    Plain  Plates.  Ditto. 

8/6    British  Beetles.     100  Coloured  Illustrations.    Cloth,  gilt  edges. 

Rev.  J.  G.  Wood. 

5/-    British  Entomology.    Coloured  Plates.  Maria  E.  Catlow. 

6/-    British  Crustacea.    20  pages  of  Coloured  lUusts.     Adam  White. 

B/-    The  Aquarium.    20  pages  of  Coloured  Illusts.        G.  B.  Sowerby. 

8/6    Fresh  Water  and  Salt  Water  Aquarium.    126  Coloured  Illustra- 
tions.    Cloth,  gilt  edges.  Rev.  J.  G.  Wood. 

3/6  Our  Garden  Friends  and  Foes,  aoo  Illusts.         Rev.  J.  G.  Wood. 

3/6  Our  Domestic  Pets.  Ditto. 

Z/-  The  Rat :  with  Anecdotes  Uncle  James. 

6d.  Rabbits.  Delamer. 

1/-  and  1/6.     The  Young  Angler  and  Naturalist.     Pigeons,  Fowls, 
Rabbits,  Silkworms,  &c.     Many  Illustrations. 

6d.    White's  Natural  History  of  Selbome.    No  Plates.    Cloth. 

8d.    ——————— Ditto.        Paper  covert. 


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